#she’d plague him with visions

[prythianpages]

I saw this hotd tweet and it made me think of Eris…what if he fell for a goth witch who thrived off of chaos and it’s why she lives in Autumn

[that-student-that-has-homework]

Gentle Reciprocity

Al-Haitham x Reader

cw: allusions to neurodivergent overstimulation

“Hello there darling,” he sees the amused twinkle in your eyes and already knows he’s in for a treat, “would you like some assistance?”

With how it was phrased it could be pointed at either him or his assailant. However he was well aware that adage was for him and not the persistent presence that plagued his side.

“While I’d rather not trouble you,” his amusement pulled at the corner of his lips, “seeing as you’re already here…”

“I might as well?” You chuckled.

His entertainment only increased at the confusion clearly written upon the foreign young lady’s face. She was likely trying to piece together what your interaction meant. Though she probably had an inkling and would now have to confirm it.

“Uh, do you two know each other?” She pulled away from him slightly.

“We do,” you nodded, humming in confirmation, “rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” he nodded, removing his arm from the lady’s grasp, “intimately well.”

You could see her working to process what was going on based off of your layered conversation with your beloved. Meanwhile you were relieved of half of the load of groceries you’d been carrying prior to approaching the two.

“He’s my husband, sweetheart,” you decided not to toy with her any further, “his lack of interest isn’t anything personal,” you tried to console her, “part of the reason I married him is his integrity.”

She looked so confused, staring between the two of you and then to your hands. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed as her tongue translated her confusion, “but he’s not wearing a ring.”

At which point you turn to his hand, a little smile gracing your lips, and shoot him a glance filled with mirth at the state of his finger. He appreciates your grace towards him. After all, he was wearing his ring, under his glove.

“You can see my wife’s ring though, can’t you?” He raised an eyebrow at his stunned pursuer. 

“That confirms that she’s married,” she argued, “it says nothing about you.”

“What woman would risk the tranquility of her marriage to help a fully grown man ward off unwanted attention?” He argued back.

“One that isn’t happy in her marriage and wants the man she’s helping out.”

“You know habibi, that is a plausible argument,” you turned to him intrigued.

He was about to rebut when you took the words out of his mouth, “but in that case. He wouldn’t cooperate with me, because he knows I’m married to someone else.”

“Unless you were having an affair!”

“In which case that would mean that I am still involved with a woman and uninterested in you,” Al-Haitham caught her on her argument, “you’re doing a horrible job of seducing me with these accusations, which is what I assume is your goal.”

“Accusations?” Ooh. She had gotten so carried away by the argument she’d gone into the rhetorical realm.

“You accused both of us of infidelity,”  your husband gestured between you and himself.

“What? No! I just-urgh,” she fumbled over her words, “sorry.”

“Apologize to my wife as well.”

Your husband’s assailant gave him a very unimpressed stare, before letting out a huff that caused her whole body to deflate. She turned to you, looking defeated, “sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” you nodded, your lips gently curving upwards, “take care and have a nice rest of your day.”

Again looking between the two of you, she nodded meekly and trudged away in complete and utter defeat. You hoped you hadn’t completely broken her spirit. After all, she was under the impression that the man she was approaching was available.

You weren’t able to worry long as something moved in your peripheral vision, pulling your attention towards it. Turns out Al-Haitham was turning his sound-canceling ear pieces back on. Ah. Understandable.

You lightly hooked your pinky in his before sliding it out, a quiet invitation. Glancing up at him you were met with his own tired gaze. You probably shouldn’t have entertained her arguments for too long, your love seemed to have had just about enough today. 

“Let’s go home,” you spoke nodding your head in the direction back to your shared abode.

You were treated to a little nod, your husband slipping his hand into your free one and hurrying down the street. Over time you’d gotten good at keeping up with his long strides, and he had gotten good at maintaining a pace that didn’t require you to sprint. You still had to hurry this time around though.

There was a kind of relief that came with arriving at your shared abode. You took care of locking the door, and then headed to the kitchen to put the groceries away while he headed into your room. You’d just about finished putting things away and were wondering what you could make for dinner when you sensed you weren’t alone in the kitchen anymore.

Without turning around fully, you began placating your husband, “don’t worry about food and just-”

You were cut off by Al-Haitham’s sudden embrace, his head coming to rest on your shoulder, his nose poking at your neck. Relaxing into him, you placed a hand above the ones that sat atop one another on your abdomen, languidly stroking at his skin. Seems he’d taken his gloves off.

Given he had sought you out, it seemed he was okay with you touching him in his current state. You reached your other hand up to tenderly trace his scalp. You stood there quietly, him taking deep, calming breaths, and you playing with his hair. After a bit, your husband’s weight, for lack of a better term, weighed down on you, and you could feel the fatigue in your legs.

“Can we take a seat, love?” You hummed, taking care to keep your voice quiet and light.

“I’d prefer we lay down,” his rich timbre reverberated through your bones.

“Laying down it is then,” you agreed.

You were gingerly pulled by the hand towards your room, and towards your shared bed. You smiled at the thought. You’d originally started off in separate rooms with separate beds, but look at you now. Al-Haitham allowed you a moment to close the door, careful to make too much noise, before pulling you to your bed. Within a moment he was curled into you, his head tucked into your shoulder and his arms around your middle.

It was a little more difficult to play with his hair from this position, so you absentmindedly began  playing with the wedding band that sat proudly on his finger. When you came back to your senses you paused. He was already overwhelmed and trying to ground himself, you didn’t need to introduce any unwanted stimuli.

“You can keep playing with our ring,” he mumbled, “I don’t mind,” he tightened his hold on you, “and I know it helps you stay calm.”

“Thanks,” you resumed your previous fiddling, “love you.”

“Love you too.”

You couldn’t help the way your features curled into a deep appreciation. You loved hearing those words from him, but in your current state it was redundant.

After all, he was allowing you to be near him in his volatile state, and it was an honor you cherished.

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What was your favorite part? Also please let me know if I got the neurodivergent thing right. I can't claim to be neurodivergent (no matter how relatable some memes are)

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Pretty As A Picture - Chapter 1

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Theme: Soulmates - Feeling the connection as soon as you see each other.

Summary: When Bucky fell from the train, their soulmate was told he was gone. When Steve Rogers disappeared into the ice, their soulmate was again told one of her soulmates were gone. But she didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Committed to a mental health institute, she dies of a broken heart. That's at least what the hidden S.H.I.E.LD files say, but if that's the case than why is there a photo of her. A photo that shows her side by side two redhaired Avengers.

Warnings will be per chapter.

For this fic reader will be British, but let your imagination replace if needed.

Chapter Summary: The team are back together and their soul family back in place. Emotions run high, their exhausted and a photo is about to shake Bucky to his core.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of death, sad Bucky.

Natasha looked around the room, scanning her weary team mates. Her soul family. It had taken a while to get here but they had. Sure Tony and Steve continued to be at each other’s throats and Bucky’s face got more broody by the day but they were together.

Knowing Wanda was also back in the Compound, Vision at her side as they settled into their new quarters brought a smile to her face.

The rush of emotions of everyone being together had been too much for Wanda, and when Steve and Tony had squared up to each other for the third time in as many hours, Rhodes and Wilson forced to keep them apart as Bucky packed a bag to leave, she’d had enough.

Natasha had ushered Bruce away to avoid a code green, as Vision had tried to do the same with Wanda. But Wanda had reached her breaking point and had enough of the arguments, the intense negative energy that surrounded her soul family had brought her to breaking point. Her nights were plagued with nightmares about her family, Pietro, and her days were a living nightmare with her soul family at each other’s throats. Wanda had screamed as she’d nearer collapse.

“Enough!” she’d yelled as Vision looped an arm around her waist to keep her upright, “do you see? You never see do you? The damage you’re doing? To our family? To each other?!”

She paused as she took a breath.

“I’m leaving.”

There were calls of her name as Vision led her from the room. An hour later they were in a Quinjet over the Atlantic, directions to a safe house and a contact of Natasha’s. The rest of them didn’t speak to each other for a week following Wanda and Vision’s departure, the only exception their own soulmates. When Natasha wouldn’t say where they were, they didn’t speak to her for a few days longer.

Wanda’s return came three months later, sure there was still bickering but they’d learnt the hard way to keep it away from her. As much as they’d had preferred a longer break, missions and their skillsets had meant a need for them to return.

The Hydra clean up had originally been going well but a repeat of dead leads and bad intel had caused any more arrests to dry up. 

As the digital map displayed across the meeting room showed the dead ends and places still be searched. Natasha scanned the faces of her team mates and soul family in the room. Steve was seemingly staring into thin air. Tony flipped a pen between his hands. Rhodey rubbed his eyes. Sam had his eyes on a screen full of text but the movement of his eyes indicated he was reading the same sentence over and over again. Bucky stared at a spot on one of the maps. A no go area in part of Germany. An old Nazi bunker that they had very little chance of getting permission to search even with the New Accords. 

Unless she asked for a favour. A favour from you. Her attention was brought away from her stray thoughts as Bruce wrapped himself around her, a soft kiss to her forehead.

“They need a break.”

She smiled warmly at him.

“Guys, let’s take a break, half an hour and regroup.”

The only responses were sighs, stretches and yawns. Bucky was the first one up and out of the room rubbing his hand down his face in frustration as he went. Tony’s voice broke the silence. 

“Is there a reason he keeps staring at the same spot?”

“The same reason I keep rereading this.” Sam replied pointing at the screen. 

“It’s one of the no go areas left from the war, but it feels to me like that’s the next stop” Steve added.

“Has he been there before?” Tony asked.

“We both have.” Steve replied.

“Recently or before?” Asked Natasha, referencing before Steve was in the ice and Bucky was in cyro.

“Before.”

“Look if it’s a no go area you know the chances of us getting in there are real slim.” added Rhodey.

“Not necessarily.” added Nat.

“Let me guess” Sam enquired “you know a guy?”

“A girl actually.” she replied. 

Tony cocked an eyebrow and glanced round at his soul family.

“Spill it Romanoff.” 

Meanwhile down the hall Bucky splashed cold water on his face. He knew the next spot was likely to be that bunker and he knew he wasn’t going to like it. If they could even get in there it would bring back too many memories. 

Memories of when they’d raided it. Memories of when he was back there twelve years later. He needed coffee or something stronger. Where was Thor when he needed him. 

He headed out of the bathroom and along the corridor to the coffee station and began to start up the machine and root through the snacks. In the distance he could hear the hums of Wanda from the printing room. The room was barely used, the team opting for electronic devices or projections instead but Steve still liked paper copies and every mission had a pack of freshly printed paper maps just in case. Two packs in fact. One for use and one just in case. 

Every time Steve would drop the two packs on to the meeting room table or fiddle with them on his lap in the Quinjet he would give Bucky a sad smile and nod his head, which Bucky would return. 

It was silly really how things reminded them of their shared soulmate. Their soulmate had prepared maps for British Special Forces during the war and their eye to detail had been the best around, making Peggy quick to recruit their girl to her team. The fates leading her to Steve first and then Bucky. Their soulmate would do anything to keep them safe. Nagging Howard for better equipment and weapons. Telling him to “quit flirting and stop trying to fondue anything in a skirt and bloody get on with it”.

Howard never let on he was slightly scared of their soulmate, not to any of their faces but the panic in his eyes gave him away. Steve had nicknamed their soulmate a Spitfire, like the British fighter plane. The look on their girls face said he shouldn’t have.

Her way of keeping them safe was to slip extra bandages into their gear, sew small bits of metal into their suits to cover key areas but not too much to weigh them down. Then there was the packs. Always two packs of maps, just in case. Bucky sometimes wondered if their girl slipped extra copies to the other Howling Commandos. 

“Can’t have you getting lost lads. You Yanks are awful with directions.”

Bucky would always tap her ass playfully as she passed by for that comment. 

His thoughts were soon snapped back by Vision’s soft voice. 

“James?”

Bucky cleared his throat to answer, and wiping his face roughly when he realised he was crying.

“Yeah? You need something?”

“Actually I wanted to check if you needed anything.”

“No, I’m good, thanks Vis”

“Were you thinking of her again? If you’d like to talk about her, Wanda and I would happily listen.”

Bucky turned away, dipping his head, gripping the counter of the coffee station. He tried to take a deep breath but it came out shuddered. 

“James, I maybe speaking out of turn and uninvited but there is no shame in grief and you certainly don’t need to hide it from us. For anyone in the outside world it is a lifetime ago but for you, it is not, and there is no timeframe or timeline for grief.”

Bucky heard Wanda’s soft footsteps approach. 

“James, take it from someone that’s knows, it is better to talk than it is to keep it inside. You listened to me talk about my brother, I’d be honoured to hear about her.”

Bucky nodded and turned towards them both teary eyed.

“Whenever you want us to, we’ll listen” added Vision.

He rubbed his face and nodded again. It was then he noticed a pile of photos in Wanda’s arms. All different sizes clutched in her hands, he was puzzled as he had barely seen a printed photo since being out of cyro, Sam telling him that people don’t often print them anymore. He then noticed Vision was holding picture frames. 

“Did you print these? I didn’t think people did that anymore?”

“Not always but I like them,” Wanda answered “reminds me of home. This one Tony found for me on an old friend’s social media account” as she handed him a picture of Pietro. 

“This one is when we were away” she handed him another. A picture of the couple near a lake, Scotland, Bucky thought to himself.

“This one is from” Wanda started only to stop abruptly as some of the photos scattered to the floor. She cursed in Sokovian as she went to pick them up.

“I’ve got it” Bucky said as he reached for them. He passed the first two up to Wanda but the third made him freeze.

To anyone else it was a normal picture. Three friends side by side. Two red heads and a (Y/H/C). Only it wasn’t a normal photo at all. Because alongside his two redheaded soul sisters, Wanda with a soft smile and Natasha looking nonchalant, was another woman. A woman that haunted his dreams. 

His soulmate.  Their girl.

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

[florencemtrash]

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Shadow

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Angst (specifically a very angsty Azriel)

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel gripped his glass so tightly in his fist he wondered if it would shatter. 

Another year gone. Another year without you. Another year where the guilt ate at his stomach and heart so fiercely he wondered if he was hollow on the inside. 

Azriel! WAIT! No! Please, no! AZ! HELP ME!

“Azriel.” Cassian’s voice brought him back to reality, a reality where he sat at an empty booth looking murderous as he tried to drown out the past with his ninth drink of the night.

“Cass.” He said stiffly. His voice was as steady and clear as if he hadn’t drank at all. Cassian could never tell if it was because the alcohol didn’t affect him, or because he was incredible at faking sobriety - either was possible when it came to Az.

“This is the fourth night in a row.”

“You’re perceptive. You should take my job.” Azriel’s voice was so dead and emotionless it frightened him.

“Stop this and come home.” Cassian said, almost begging. 

Azriel grit his teeth and said nothing, downing the rest of his drink and silently gesturing to the bar for another one. When the drink came, Cassian snatched it up first. Maybe the drinks had affected him, because on any other day, Azriel could strike faster than lightning.

“Rhysand has a job for you.” He said, pulling on the small collection of words guaranteed to bring some life to his brother.

Azriel’s spine snapped straight and Cassian flinched at how quickly his brother - brooding and sarcastic as he may be - was replaced by The Shadowsinger. 

“What’s the job?”

Find Bryaxis. Those were the two words that had sent Azriel flying into the night sky and across all of Prythian, chasing after the demon that had eluded them since the end of the war against Hybern.

For over a decade they’d all held their breath when it came to the ancient creature. For over a decade they’d been plagued by more pressing matters than a beast who seemed content to remain hidden and out of mind. Still, Azriel hadn’t forgotten about him. No, he was like a loose thread on a piece of clothing - forever destined to tug and unravel at Azriel’s shortening patience and sanity. 

Nesta had felt something. Something she wasn’t sure of - Bryaxis looming over all of Prythian like a shadow before curling up into a sliver of smoke and disappearing for good. 

They’d written to Elain to see if she had seen anything through her Eye, but she’d also been experiencing blind spots in her vision. The future was always full of events, some malleable and some concrete, but it was more unclear than ever before - like someone had shattered a mirror and she was left to string the pieces back together.

Azriel shook his head, emptying his mind of thoughts of Elain. It would do him no good. Thoughts concerning Elain were painful enough now that she’d left the Night Court… they were made even worse because they always traced their way back to you. Like how rivers must always find their way back to the sea, Azriel found himself drawn back to memories of you, so bright and full of heat they blinded and burned him. Your smile, your laugh, the grim determination on your face as you stared him down during sparring matches. You’d been his anchor without him even knowing it. 

And now you were gone. And it was all his fault.

Stupid, stupid fool. He hissed at himself.

Threads of information concerning Bryaxis were sparse and limited, but Azriel chased after them all, finding himself deep within the gleaming workshops of Dawn, the silent and cherished libraries of Day, and the sea-whipped bellies of Summer Court ships before finally tracing Bryaxis to the Autumn Court.

This has to be handled delicately. It is imperative that no one discovers you. 

Azriel saw Rhysand’s familiar graceful penmanship, read the words, and immediately crushed the note in his hand, casting it into the dying fire. The paper folded and crumpled from the heat before turning to ash.

He huddled down in the mountains that crossed the line between Winter and Autumn, grateful to be free from the cutting winds. Beyond the frozen lake were rolling hills of bejeweled forest. He wouldn’t risk flying now. From here he’d travel through shadows and by foot, getting as close to the Forest House as he dared.

If his intuition was right (and it so often was), if Eris knew Bryaxis was within the borders of his court, he would keep him close. Close enough to monitor, close enough to kill if need be. But what The High Lord of Autumn would want with Bryaxis, Azriel had no idea.

With the issue of succession dealt with and Eris planted on the High Lord’s seat, there came less and less of a need to continue relations between Autumn and Night, at least between Autumn and the Court of Dreams. After the war and until a month ago, nearly all of Eris’s dealings had been with Keir and the Court of Nightmares. Rhysand wanted to change that, and that meant if Azriel wanted to search for Bryaxis in Autumn, he would have to do it in secret. Eris would sooner pluck out his eyes than let any member of the Inner Circle scour his lands voluntarily.

Azriel traveled from town to town, inching ever closer to the Forest House, which curled up beneath the earth like a sleeping giant. That was the issue with the Forest House - hardly anyone knew the size of it, and that meant Azriel could be walking above a watchguard stronghold and not realize until it was too late. 

Something stirred within him when he reached one of the Forest House border towns. Everywhere people seemed brighter, livelier than when Beron had been alive, but this place… this place was filled with an uncharacteristic casualness and joy. The marketplace bustled with activity even in the early morning. Plump fruits, freshly baked bread, and sticky treacle candies wrapped in wax paper were laid out with care on hand-built carts decorated with golden chrysanthemums and sunflowers. 

You would have loved this place.

No. This wasn’t what he’d come for. He’d come to distract himself with work and to find Bryaxis.

Azriel slipped up the trees and settled in between two arching branches, straining his ears to hear the talk that went on below. His shadows slithered out to gather information his senses couldn’t reach.

“Faula’s with child, can you imagine! After so-”

“Thirty?! Why, how could you charge so much! The High Lo-”

“Four dozen eggs, two pounds of flour, six slabs of butter, and-”

“Will Our Lady be coming?” 

Azriel’s ears pricked up, blocking out the hushed conversation that went on around the pair of females who sat on milk crates and peeled apples under the cover of a thatched roof. The crisp sound of a knife sliding between fruit and peel followed by the thunk of a cored apple dropping into a barrel was a soft rhythm to Azriel’s ears.

“To ours?! Good gods, Rebessa, to think that she’d spend the harvest here.”

“She lives close by. It’s not as though we’re strangers to her and she’s wonderfully kind!”

“I hear she’s been invited elsewhere.”

The female gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth. “Elsewhere?”

“Elsewhere.” 

“Do you think he’ll-”

“Shhhhh. You mustn’t say anything. I’m not even supposed to know.” 

“Well how’d you find out?”

“Syndra says he’s been visiting jewelers and carpenters every week. He could be preparing a new room… or a bridal chest.”

“About time! And will he be going with her?”

“He follows wherever Our Lady goes.”

“Shame. He was unnerving, but welcome. Haven’t lost a sheep or hen in ages.” 

They continued on, whispering between their bowed heads of matching ruby-colored hair. Autumn Court members were crafty and secretive by nature, an unfortunate byproduct of existing beneath the thumbs of one brutal and cunning High Lord after another. But it would seem their tongues had loosened in the years since Eris had come into his power.

Our Lady. 

Elsewhere. 

He.

Azriel rolled the words around in his mind like a rough-cut stone in a tumbler, then set off to find the “he” who followed this Lady wherever she went.

As he slipped through the village, searching for a home that would be fit enough for a Lady of Autumn, there were two things he noticed. First, the stirring in his chest had grown stronger, like the pulling of the sea as it went out with the tide or the beating of a firefly’s wings against glass. Second, for a town of this size, even one that lay so close to the Forest House, there were only a handful of guards left to trot around atop their horses and an additional handful that patrolled the paths to the fields on foot. Whoever this Lady was, she offered them enough protection and power that Eris would willingly leave it vulnerable - at least in appearance.

Azriel’s nerves sparked with interest, his heart thrumming with the adrenaline that came with staying hidden. It was like a game of sorts. A game of how far he could go, how deep into a court could he burrow, how many secrets he could steal from tight lips without getting caught. 

When he came across the cottage beyond the borders of town, nothing but the faint trail made by footsteps and horse hooves hinting at its existence through the break in the treeline, he was unimpressed. No wave of power rushed over him. No hunting dogs or other monsters were posted at the door. The only thing that strengthened, and had continued to strengthen as he neared this place, was that fluttering tightness in his chest. 

He couldn’t tell if it was his instincts on edge or a bad omen of what was to come. 

There was a flat, empty stretch of land from the treeline to the front door. He called upon his shadows, drawing his power over himself to hide as he slinked across the grass soundlessly. His feet knew where to step, his lungs knew when to take breath, until suddenly he was at the side door. A peek in through the window confirmed his suspicions. 

There was no one here. 

He pressed his fingertips to the walls of the house, feeling the magic splinter outward like a ripple on a still lake. It was an unassuming, but powerful spell that wrapped around the house like a second skin. But Azriel was craftier than that, poking for weak spots in the magic and finding an opening in the chimney. 

He broke through the veil of magic, slipped into the darkness, and emerged on the other side inside the house. 

It was the smell that dropped him to his knees, the scent of witch hazel, rosemary oil, and oranges, clean and bright and warm all at the same time. 

It smelled like you. 

All thoughts of his mission and staying hidden at all costs were wiped from his mind. Now he searched for you.

He walked as if in a trance, finding pieces of you everywhere. He found you in the half-drunken mug of tea sweetened with honey and lavender syrup on the kitchen counter. He found you in the embroidery on the curtains - dainty flowers and vines used to patch up the holes and scratches with a personal touch. He found you in the fingerprints that stained the outer leaves of the books on the table. 

All these small things spoke a truth he hadn’t dared hope for in over a decade.

You were still alive.

He whirled around, searching the space with desperation for any further signs of you. But the house was empty and still, pieces of furniture missing like you’d been preparing to leave.

You slipped into your house, pressing a finger against your lips in warning to Bryaxis.

Stay silent. 

The monster obeyed, his neck twisting to the side at an unnatural angle as his body grew in size, shadowy flesh warping and stretching until he’d taken the form of a bear. 

Your eyes turned black. Power whispering at the edges of your mind just waiting to be called upon. You flexed your hands, calling your sword from the ether and feeling its familiar weight drop into your palm. 

There was a stranger in your home. A male from the looks of his build and height. He rummaged through the drawers by the door, deft fingers pulling out letters and keys while his other hand gripped his weapon.

You aimed the sword in the center of their back, tracing their spine with your eyes and pressing it against the space between two vertebrae, right at the root of their lungs.

“Drop the sword.” You commanded, pressing harder. The blade sliced through the layers of leather armor with ease. A wrong move, too deep a breath, and you’d slice through their spinal cord and leave them paralyzed on the floor.

Azriel’s heart hammered away in his chest and the feeling there twisted and ate away at him. Turn around. The voice commanded. Look at her.

His hold on his sword went slack, the metal singing before it clattered onto the floor. Without being asked, he unsheathed Truth-Teller, dropped it to the floor and slid the weapon back towards you, holding his breath as your boot stopped the ancient blade in its tracks with a solid thump.

You hadn’t recognized him. How could you? It was unnatural to see him in undyed leather armor and his raven black hair was tucked beneath a matching hood. The rich browns of the amour whispered of Autumn. He must have stolen it shortly after crossing the border into your court. But Truth-Teller? There was no mistaking it.

You grabbed him by the back of his jacket, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall before ripping off the hood with a snarl. The cool touch of your blade against his throat and between the slats of his ribs couldn’t stop what he knew was coming. 

The bond burst to life and burned within his chest, swooping and singing like a bird off a cliffside. It was a breath of fresh air. An answer to all his maddening questions.

“Hello Y/n.” His voice rang out in the house, deep and dark and all too familiar. 

You froze, eyes blowing wide open as you tightened your hold on the knife and sword until your knuckles turned white. 

Aside from the clothes he didn’t look any different from the last time you’d seen him. Same black hair, same hazel eyes that shone a million different colors, same beautiful, sculpted face spoiled by an uncharacteristic look of shock and awe. 

He looked the same as he did on the day he handed you over to Beron. 

You for Elain. 

You in exchange for the female he loved.

The betrayal still stung like salt rubbed into a fresh wound. 

Fury set your blood boiling and you answered its call, drawing back and slamming your fist into the side of his jaw so hard you felt something crack and split.

Azriel fell to the ground, catching himself on one hand as the other flew up to his jaw. 

Dislocated. 

He popped it back into place, wiping his mouth and seeing his hand come away red with blood. 

Azriel’s heart threatened to stop in his chest. His eyes crawled over the sight of you, hungry and desperate for every inch of proof that you stood before him. Your eyes were alight, brighter than any fire the world could set ablaze. Everything about you was wide and full of feeling as you stood above him, 

Inside his chest, the mate bond continued to purr happily, refusing to be silenced.

“Y/n.” He said again. The words fell like a prayer from his lips. “You’re alive.” 

“No thanks to you.” 

Bryaxis growled in agreement from your side, lips pulling back to expose teeth stronger than metal and smooth as porcelain. Azriel’s eyes flickered down to him in surprise before going back to you. 

“Bryaxis. You’re his master now.” A flash of pride warmed his chest. Leave it to you to take control of one of the most dangerous monsters in existence. Cassian would lose his mind when he found out.

Again, the creature growled, this time in disgust.

At the mention of the creature you’d come to consider a worthy friend you snapped out of your stupor and pointed the sword at his chest, just beneath his sternum, pressing down. Any more force and you’d break skin. Angle it upwards and push and you’d reach his heart.

“Y/n, please.” He begged. It was another shock to your system. You’d never heard him beg for anything. 

“What do you want?” The words came out hard and trembling.

“I came to find Bryaxis and bring him back to the Night Court. I… I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

“Obviously. And yet you’re in my house. Uninvited, might I add.” There was an edge to your voice that hadn’t been there before, a harder gleam to your eyes despite everything else remaining the same. There were some scars that did not write themselves onto skin.

“I… How did you survive?” 

Your lips tightened and turned pale, “Are you shocked? Disappointed?”

Azriel flinched. Your words may as well have been another blow to his face. The flesh around his jaw was beginning to bruise, shifting from an inflamed red to a mottled purple. 

“No!” Azriel lifted his hands up in surrender. “We searched for you. We searched for you for weeks… You have to believe me.” You searched his eyes for an answer, expecting to be met with his usual unreadable expression. But you found the exact opposite. He seemed… lost. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself. If you didn’t know better you would say the Shadowsinger looked frightened.

“I’m sorry.” he gasped, “For everything.” 

It was too late for apologies. Far too late. You told him as much.

“I know,” Azriel swallowed thickly, “I know.” He said again, quieter this time. Something within him dimmed.

“Bryaxis isn’t coming with you.” You said, breaking the silence and finally taking the pressure of your sword off his chest. Azriel moved back onto his feet as swift and strong as a river. “Now get out.” 

You turned your back to him, shrugging off the uncomfortable feelings that weighed on your shoulders. You’d be happier when he was long gone.

“You can run back to Rhys and tell him you failed.”

“Y/n-” His hand brushed against your arm, willing you to look at him again. And you did. You whirled on him in an instant, shoving him back with the hilt of your sword.

“Don’t touch me.” You growled. He flinched again like he’d been burned. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I-” He scrambled for words that wouldn’t come. Anything to hold on to you for a little while longer, “Why didn’t you come back to the Night Court? Why didn’t you come home?”

A stupid question to which he already knew the answer.

“That was never my home and there’s nothing left for me there.”

Azriel shook his head, hair shining like a raven’s wing in flight, “That’s not true.” 

I’m there. He sent his pleas through the bond. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been waiting for you for years… for my whole life. 

“It is true.”

“And there’s more for you here?” Azriel asked quietly. “You live here on your own, no friends, no family.” 

“I didn’t have friends or family in the Night Court either.” You weren’t going to tell him about Eris or Halvor or the others. He didn’t have any right to that knowledge, “You proved that when you traded me away to Beron.” 

Azriel tipped his head forward, closing his eyes to the feeling of shame that weighed him down.

Azriel! WAIT! No! Please, no! AZ! HELP ME! 

“It was Rhys and I who made the decision. The others didn’t know. Don’t hate them for what we did.” 

Your laugh came out like a sharp bark, “I have a hard time believing that.” 

If the circumstances were different, he might have pulled down the neck of his shirt and shown you the thin scar on his shoulder, courtesy of Nesta stabbing him with a kitchen knife after she’d learned what he’d done. She would have gone for a second attempt if it hadn’t been for Cassian. He’d dragged her away screaming and crying. 

“It’s true. I swear it.” Azriel whispered.

You didn’t say more, didn’t give him the satisfaction of continuing the conversation. His eyes burned into you, moving across your body with a lover’s touch like you were a well and he was looking to drown.

Before you would have melted under his gaze. Before you’d wanted nothing more than to see him look at you this intently. Things had changed.

“I’ll give you an hour to leave these lands. If you’re not long gone by then, I’ll send Bryaxis after you.” 

The creature bristled with excitement, teeth bared in a terrifying smile.

“Y/n-” Azriel begged. “Please. The others-”

“I don’t care about the others.” Your voice cracked and you hated yourself for it. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe.”

“Y/n…” He knew you were serious about your threat and that time was ticking, but he needed to see you again. He needed it like flame needs oxygen. “The others didn’t know…” 

To your surprise he dropped down to one knee in front of you, eyes tilted towards the ground.

“I hate what I did to you. I hate that I hurt you and.. And I know…” He swallowed thickly, “I know I don’t deserve any kindness or forgiveness, but at least let the others see you… Let them visit,” He added after a short pause, “In Autumn, if that’s what you want.”

“Get out, Azriel.” 

To hear you say his name broke the dam on old memories, painful and numerous. Memories of you screaming out for him to help you when Beron’s men strapped the ashwood chains around your wrists and ankles. Screams begging him to take you home. Anywhere other than Autumn. Anywhere other than under Beron’s thumb.

Azriel! WAIT! No! No, no, no, no, no. Please, no! AZ! HELP ME! 

“Please. Consider it.” Azriel murmured. You turned away from him, looking at the engraved clock on the wall. Every tick tock of its hands felt like a death knell. 

“They’ll be glad to know you’re alive and safe… more than you know.” 

You said nothing, heard nothing as he took his things and slipped out of your house. But you felt his absence like a stone in your stomach. It wasn’t until Bryaxis nudged your waist that all the anger, sadness, and longing crashed in around you. You broke down on the floor, and began to sob into Bryaxis’s side.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______

Author's note:

Yeahhhhhh, Azriel fucked up. But I feel like this would be in character for him? He gets fixated on the people in his life that he's able to 'save' (i.e., Mor and Elain) and especially because of the whole '3 sisters for 3 brothers' thing, I think he would be willing to make big sacrifices to save Elain if it came down to it... but perhaps I'm wrong. I would be curious to hear other people's opinions on it.

Anyhow, sorry for the sad and angsty chapter.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy @esposadomd @imma-too-many-fandoms @bubybubsters

[swanmaids]

Hot take… none of the Nolofinweans is “the boring one” and all are unhinged.

Fingolfin - obvious really. Challenged Satan to single combat and called him a coward AND MORGOTH CAME. Marched across an icy wasteland just to tell his half brother that he’s a bitch. Didn’t get complacent with the siege for even half a second.

Anaire - “fuck them kids”. Saw her husband and all of her children about to go into exile and decided she’d rather hang out with her girl bestie instead.

Fingon - murdered innocents. Sung a jaunty little tune while trekking through Hell and it WORKED. Rescued his cousincest failboyfriend after possibly the worst breakup of all time. Manwe felt sorry for him. Told baby Glaurung to go crawling back to mummy and he DID. Balrog fight.

Turgon - disappeared in the middle of the night with thousands of people forever because “ulmo is sending me dreams”. Morgoth had crazy beef with him SPECIFICALLY. Died screaming about the glory of the Noldor while his city fell around his ears. SUCH a hater towards his cousins that it went down in the historical record.

Aredhel - also part of aforementioned disappearance. Moved to a city where nobody could leave ever and then just…left. “My cousins who killed everyone and abandoned us to the ice are my besties actually”.

Argon - THEEEE impetuous. Literally all we know about him is he went crazy went stupid at the battle of the Lammoth and died.

Maeglin - probably you don’t want him in your secret city. Looked at seven year old Earendil and said “fuck this one kid in particular”. Strange affinity with moles.

Idril - Plagued By Visions. Secret Tunnel In the Secret City Because Bitches Love Secrets. That Ban Of the Noldor Won’t Stop Me (Or My Sexy Old Man Mortal Husband) Because I Can’t Read.

Earendil - seven years old and everyone wants to kill him. “I don’t want to do my super important quest I want my wife”. But also hold his beer while he saves the world that failed him. Covered in jewels glittery sexy swag. 1v1 with a dragon and WON.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 7.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 2.5k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

a/n: a short chapter, but very important! the next 3 after this will be very action packed! and then it is the end of act 1!

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing, descriptions of injuries, allusions to suicide, talk of chronic pain and illness

story playlist

Shera had never rushed before so much in her life. She needed out. Out of Viserys’ room, out of the tunnels, out, out, out. As she pushed a stone backing, her knees skidded across the cobbled ground, skin ripping from them violently. Oh, how adept she’d become at injuring herself. She haphazardly wiped a few tears away.

The crisp night air whipped against her face before the smell changed– her other senses other than sight had become so keen since her loss of sight in her eye, so she was especially sensitive to even the most minute change in scents. She smelled the distinct aroma of fire– ashes to ashes, wafting along the breeze, mingling with a familiar smell of sandalwood and white cedar musk. 

A pair of polished black boots, now a bit dull in their pallor from soot, stood in front of her. 

“Lost, little banshee?” Aemond cooed. She could practically see the grin on his face, once again not of joy but something akin to self-assuredness and beastly callousness. 

“I told you…” she croaked, putting her now bloodied fingertips up to her throat, the pain reverberating through every word. “Don’t… call me that, nūmāzma zaldrīzes.” Mean dragon. She didn’t look up, or lift herself in any sort of way. Shera was all too aware she was not wearing her veil, nor her choker– and Aemond’s comments at the dinner (that he had still not apologized for, the cad) were festering in her mind, stinging and infecting like a plague. They hadn’t spoken since her almost ill-fated swan dive. He probably thought she was still suicidal. 

It was all too quick for her to register, her vision was still spinning, but he had picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, or perhaps a bale of hay. He didn’t say anything further as he began to walk down the hall, deeper into the Keep. 

Shera’s face went beet red as she sniffled, kicking her legs against him. “Put me down,” she growled, her voice raising more than it should, her tone becoming skewed and cracking. She resorted to trying to bite him then, her teeth fastening down on the leather jerkin he was wearing. It was so thick, that her attempt to snap her jaws upon his skin was hardly even registered to him.

“No.” he responded flatly, an arm fastened around her waist that was slung over his shoulder, his other hand coming up to swat her bottom. “Stop trying to bite me.”

“This is demeaning.” she hissed, now resulting in hitting her forehead on his shoulder blade, hoping to hide the fact that her face was burning scarlet at the fact that he had swatted her bum like an insolent child, no less carrying her like one. 

“Yes– well, mayhaps you shouldn’t be sneaking around at night, much less without your mutt guiding you.”

She grumbled a noise of discontentment, burying her face into his shoulder blade as a means to hide herself further, lest anyone see the absolutely precarious position that Aemond– and herself– had put her in.

They didn’t speak much as he took her back to her chambers. Moongeist was awake in an instant when he opened the door, growling and snarling.

“... s’okay,” Shera mustered as Aemond planted her on the ground next to the wolf, who immediately calmed at his owner’s presence– not without a wary look towards the prince, though. She put her hand on his head, her fingertips shaking. 

“You’re bloody, Shera.”

“Fell.”

“You can’t go to bed bloody. You’ll stain the sheets.”

“I can.”

“You can– but the maids would most certainly report it to my mother, or worse, to Rhaenyra. It’s not exactly a good look for a supposed maiden bride-to-be having bloodied sheets?”

Shera sighed, putting her head in her hands as she sat at her boudoir. “Get on with it.”

“Tell your mutt to not bite me, then.” Aemond returned in an equally annoyed tone as he wet a cloth at the washing basin, swathing it over her skinned knee, while keeping his eye trained on Moongeist– who in turn, was staring back at him.

“Have half a mind to… you were… quite mean.”

“Mean? I helped you back to your room.”

“At the dinner, when I came back. And you have been quiet since the… Kingswood.” 

“Ah.”

“... ‘ah’? That’s it?”

“Tell me truthfully; are you being coerced into this? If you are, I will cut that Strong bastard from stem to stern like a roasted pig. I see what it's doing to you. You’re frayed at the ends.”

He’s noticed? She glanced at him waywardly, fists squeezing in her lap. “I’m not some helpless little creature with no power… I still have some voice.”

“Hardly.”

“Jacaerys has been… cordial and proper,” she said. When he isn’t fucking my brother, that is.  “He even has written me letters when not visiting. What a novel idea that is, hm?” 

“You’re still upset about that?”

Shera peeked through the hair fallen in front of her face, scowling. “Yes. I am.”

He reached his hand up to pry one of hers from her face. “I’ll need to clean these, too. Even so, I do believe it requires two people to have a conversation through letters, does it not? I don’t recall receiving anything addressed to me from you over the years. I heard Helaena got quite a few.” 

Shera pressed her marred side of her face into her shoulder as she let Aemond clean the blood from her fingertips. She didn’t want him to see– she couldn’t. She didn’t quite understand the confidence that Aemond had, his scar proudly on display above and below his eyepatch. The tips of her ears went red at his insinuation. “... I suppose we both could’ve sent letters, then. I just…” her fingertips twitched as he pressed the cloth underneath her nails, scraping the dried blood from under them. “I wasn’t sure you would want to…” her hands strayed from his grasp, to which he grunted at, taking them back. “Cregan wrote the response for the first one. It… I’m sure you know it was a lie now. He is such an idiot– I am the opposite of fine. I don’t think I’ve been fine in nearly a decade.” her bottom lip wobbled slightly as she rambled on, saying all the things she’d always wanted to say to someone– no, not someone– to him. 

“... it was callous of me,” he finally offered, “To say… what I did at the dinner. It was mostly to rile Jacaerys.” he finally responded, putting the cloth to the side and examining her to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. “I’m sorry.” Aemond spoke his apology quietly, but looked directly at her face, then. His face was… surprisingly open. Not guarded.

“... ‘twas not far from the truth.”

“May I see?” 

Shera shook her head vehemently. “You can’t.”

“Please.”

She made a noise of disagreement, pressing her face further to her shoulder. She didn’t, however, account for the visibility of the scar on her throat, jagged and raised against the soft flesh of her neck. She felt one of Aemond’s fingers trace it, across slowly, then upward. His hand went to her chin and he turned her face towards him. And she let him. She didn’t have much energy to stop him, anyhow. 

His touch was soft, which surprised her greatly– she thought him unhewn and rough in all places– but this was something reminiscent of how he used to touch her as children. He was always gentle with her before. Her face was turned to him completely now, unveiled, unhidden– she braced herself for the look of humor or pity on his face, her heart stopped beating for a moment, her breaths caught in her chest.

Brushing an errant hair aside, he traced the scar over her eye. It wasn’t an entirely clean cut, like he had guessed, jutting out into two diverging lines, like branches of a tree going downward. His violet eye, the hue hardly visible from how large his pupil was, was trained on her blind one. The milky blue, her own pupil long gone. The edges of his lips curled into something akin to wonder. There wasn’t a look of pity and it didn’t seem like he was about to make another poor jest about her face– he just looked, as if to study it, to commit it to memory.

“Blue?” he murmured. “How curious.”

The way he said it had Shera perking her brow– it sounded like an epiphany to him, his voice taking a lighter note than she’d heard. There was no trace of callousness that had been exuding from him previously. He was calm.

“Yes, it's blue,” she muttered in response, his taut (but not uncomfortable) grip on her chin keeping her facing him. She desperately wanted to hide away, hide, hide. She’d never felt so exposed in her life, so naked– and she was fully clothed. It felt like her soul was on display to him, cracking from her ribcage. 

“Let me formally apologize,” he cleared his throat. “‘Tis not mangled at all, nor a mess. I now wonder, even more than before, why you persist with the veil.” Aemond let go of her chin, but not before giving it a little tug in an almost playful manner. Aemond? Playful?

“I like them– it's… to hide.” 

“Hide? To make oneself obscured, to conceal and fade into the background,” he pondered it for a moment. “You make yourself a spectacle with that thing, Shera. You are doing the opposite of hiding.”

Shera puffed out her chest, arms crossed over defensively. “A spectacle?”

“You chastised me for calling you a banshee, when you dress the part,” he leaned back in his chair, hands laced together over his stomach. He was relaxing. 

She puffed, rolling her eyes. She mimicked his body position, leaning back with her hands on her stomach. It felt… odd to be looking at him without any inhibition. It felt almost normal. Normal– normal. When was the last time she felt normal?

“I want to clarify,” she cleared her throat, fingertips paused on her throat from speaking up too fast, too loudly. “I was not trying to kill myself. It… I… I’m not suicidal.”

Aemond’s expression didn’t change, he merely focused his gaze even more onto her. He didn’t say anything.

“The… disassociation is new, like Hela told you,” Shera’s hands wrought over one another slowly. “But it isn’t… unusual, given my… conditions.”

“Conditions?” he asked finally. His face still didn’t give away any emotion.

“... no one else knows except for Cregan and the maesters at Winterfell. Jace probably knows from Cregan… telling him all the things that are wrong with me, to look out for when we’re married.” she took a breath before continuing. “The maesters don’t exactly know what to call it— but it is… I lose control of my body and fall to the ground, convulsing— it's terribly painful and then everything goes black. We have referred to it as my… fainting spells, but it surely feels like more than fainting. It’s… quite violent.” 

Aemond blinked. Hard. He took a beat to absorb the information before speaking. His position shifted as he leaned forward. “When was the last time you had one of these… spells?” 

“… not since Winterfell.” 

“I don’t remember this being an issue when you were younger— is it… relatively new?” he asked then. His lips were pursed together in a tight line, in tandem with his furrowed brow. 

“Since Driftmark.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly at the mention. “Another thing for us to bear, isn’t it?” he gave a low, bitter chuckle. “The Gods weren’t satisfied in our mutilation alone and had to… bestow us with lasting gifts, hm?” 

Shera stayed silent, sitting up to where their knees were touching. Her eyes were wide as she took him in. His melancholic smile and the dullness of his eye as he looked off somewhere in the distance.

“The pain is bad most days. And on its worst days, it’s unbearable. The… the nerve damage, the maesters said. I’ll live with it forever— a constant thrum and reminder of it. There’s a few medicines that help temporarily but…” his voice trailed off, his gaze returning to her. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond.” 

“I do and I do not— I should’ve protected you. I should’ve killed them.” he gave an ugly sneer, lip curled. 

Shera’s heart felt like it was in her throat. She wanted to cry, to scream for his pain, for her pain. She couldn’t speak, her voice coming out in unintelligible, choked sobs. 

He looked sad, too. The depth of his despair laid bare in front of her for only a moment. The mask slipped back on, his proverbial walls back up. 

But she knew. 

They were so alike— even now.

–

Aemond had always prided himself on his resilience, on his ability to mask his emotions into stone. 

Why did he become so unraveled with Shera? He confided in her so easily, as if it was second nature. 

His boots stomped down the corridor of Maegor’s Holdfast without much care. He was coming apart at the seams, like a thread pulled from an old doublet, letting the structure of the garment fall away. 

All it took was one thread. 

He found himself at his desk, candles lit. The piece of fabric she’d gifted to him, with her silly note, was still there. He clutched it in his hand, bringing it to his face and taking a breath. 

Lavender, rosemary, chamomile. The scent of her on it still lingered, if not a bit faded. 

He would smell it in the halls, coming back from training. He knew she’d been watching him in secret for the past moon. Whenever it wafted near him, he had half a mind to follow her, to confront her, to hold her—

Fuck. He was fucked. He was fucked the moment she came to King’s Landing— the very first time. 

His hand glided through his hair as he snapped off the leather cord holding it back from his face. Strands of it fell over his vision as he tossed his eyepatch to the settee behind him. 

Taking out the sapphire was a tedious task. And painful. 

But damn the Gods, if he wasn’t vain. Even if he was the only one who saw it most of the time. He clenched his free fist, white knuckled as he prised the gem from his socket, setting it aside. 

He picked up the note that had been attached to her fabric favor, looking over it again. Her handwriting was terrible— but so inevitably her. Pulling a key from under a stack of innocuous papers, he unlocked the third drawer that fell down the side of the oak desk. 

In it, were letters. Penned by him. Unsent, unseen. 

All for her. Everything he’d wanted to say to her for years, everything he’d ever written with her in mind. 

Everything he never could confess— not even now.

There were at least a hundred letters in the drawer, dated from those ten years apart. 

He placed the favor note on the top and locked it back in place. The favor fabric, however, stayed in his hand. 

After some careful cutting and somewhat haphazard stitching— Aemond had sewed a small segment of the fabric to the inside of his eyepatch. 

He stowed the remainder of it in his nightstand.

He was so fucked.

[duskandcobalt]

Stargirl: Part Two

After a month of waiting, Azriel and Elain find themselves back in the kitchen to bring Elain's sexy vision from stargirl to life.

Ya'll know that SZA lyric "now I'm ovulating and I need rough sex" ?? This is that :)

You can read this as a standalone but if you did miss the first part, it's linked above xx

Read on AO3

4.6k words - explicit, 18+ pls

...

One month since she’d had that vision and Elain could still hardly look Azriel in the eye. In fact, she had taken to doing absolutely everything in her power to avoid him because even being in the same room as him for any longer than a couple minutes made her heart race in a way that she was sure would lead to her untimely death, immortal fae body or not.

She’d managed to suppress the memory of that morning, had pushed it just far back enough in her mind to allow her to carry out her day to day activities without remembering how he’d felt inside her. It had worked for a while but for the past few days, that stupid vision was all she could think about.

His scent was everywhere in this house, lingering in every nook and cranny - somehow clinging to her to the point where she could smell his rich cedar scent even as she lay in her own bed each night, trying to ignore the ever growing ache between her thighs. Much like she was doing right now.

 It was a different kind of torture - knowing exactly what it feels like to have sex with someone without actually having sex with them.

Elain drags her hands over her face in an attempt to regulate whatever the hell was happening to her mind and body. She thought hard, counted the days carefully… she was due for her cycle soon - had been preparing tonics with the twins to help ease the unbearable pain. She hadn’t noticed the first time she’d experienced her cycle in this body… maybe because she’d been in such a state following everything that had happened after the war that any shred of desire had been buried under the dark cloud that had seemed to follow her. But now that the cloud had lifted and she had clarity on her powers, Elain wondered if that primal need to be touched which she’d felt as a human on the days leading up to her monthly cycle hadn’t amplified in the same way as the pain. 

That had to be it. That had to be the explanation behind the intensity of the thoughts that had been plaguing her for the past three days. Thoughts so overwhelming that it was as if the floodgates had opened and all the images that she’d pushed back over the past few were hitting her at full force, all at the same time. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, had been pacing around the house like a mad woman - channelling her rampant energy into cleaning every surface in sight as if it would somehow simultaneously erase the memory of all the filthy things Azriel had said to her in her vision.

She needed a distraction immediately, needed to keep her body and mind busy.

… 

Azriel watched from the doorway of the kitchen, slightly amused and somewhat concerned, as Elain furiously scrubbed a rag over what looked to be an already spotless surface. He’d heard her storm down the stairs a little while ago. Her footsteps, usually near silent, had been so loud that they’d been audible even from the floor above hers. 

He couldn’t help himself when he rolled out of bed shortly after her, not even bothering to put a shirt on before silently making his way downstairs. He wouldn’t let his shadows take this task, needed to see for himself that she was okay. 

Elain’s hair fell in soft waves down her back, shielding the smooth expanse of bare skin left uncovered from the way her nightgown scooped low in the back. The cotton slip fell to just below her knees, the white fabric glowed golden from the light of the few candles that were scattered around the kitchen. The outline of her body was just visible through the thin material.

Azriel wasn’t stupid… didn’t need his shadows to know that she’d been avoiding him ever since that morning last month. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, wouldn’t stay in the same room as him for any longer than absolutely necessary. The one time his fingers accidentally brushed hers when he passed her a dish at dinner just two nights ago, she’d blushed so profusely and fled the dining room almost immediately, claiming that she’d forgotten something in the kitchen only to come back empty handed a few minutes later.

 He might've found her behaviour funny if he didn’t miss her so damn much. 

Things had changed after that day, after those thirty seconds. He hadn’t realised how the quiet moments they shared had functioned much like his siphons - tempering the tension between them into something manageable. Without the outlet of their conversations, the tension had become unbearable. But even if missed her, he didn’t blame her. It wasn’t like he’d been able to get that moment out of his mind either.

She’d been making cinnamon rolls for him, explaining why she preferred to grind the spice herself when her eyes had glazed over and she’d stopped speaking mid sentence. Azriel’s entire body had tensed, dread flooding him as he prepared for the worst. He’d witnessed her have a few visions before and they’d always been dark, always alluded to something foreboding. Each time, the way she’d go completely still and her breathing would halt, made his own heart stall until the haze lifted and she returned to herself.

This time had been different. 

Elain’s breath had still hitched, her hands went slack and the rolling pin she’d been holding fell to the floor. She had gripped the counter with such force as if she was doing her best to keep herself upright. Then her chest began moving, the rise and fall of her breasts rapidly picking up pace as her eyebrows pulled together.

He was just about to get up and try to get her out of this vision and back to him when her scent hit him, that familiar honey and jasmine, but amplified - something even sweeter. He knew it was the scent of her arousal, had known it immediately but it was further confirmed when her lips parted into a pretty ‘O’ and a soft sound escaped them. His own body had reacted on its own accord to the noises coming out of her mouth only to be rendered absolutely useless seconds later when he heard his name and every inch of him froze in shock. 

“Azriel,” she had breathed, quiet but clear. There was no mistaking it. No pretending that she had said anything else.

The knowledge that she was having a vision about sex was one thing, but knowing that she was seeing him threatened to bring him to his knees. 

Even after she’d come back into her body, after he’d asked her if she was okay, even after Cassian had come down and Elain had fled upstairs -  all he could think of was how much he wanted to hear her make those noises again, how much he wanted to make her say his name like that. For a whole month now, all he thought of when he closed his eyes at night was Elain’s mouth - the colour of her lips. He wondered if he got her out of her dress, if her nipples would match the pink of her lips. If he spread her open, how would the colour of her sex compare?

… 

“Do you see dirt that others can’t with those powers of yours?” Elain jumps at the low voice, her hand landing against her chest in an attempt to calm her heart as she turns to face him. 

She hadn’t realised anyone else was in the house tonight. Feyre and Rhys were away at the cabin, Nesta and Cassian at the House of Wind. She thought Azriel was in the Hewn City for the night but he must’ve come back earlier in the evening without her realising. 

Her stomach tightens, her thighs involuntarily pressing together at the sight of him. He’s shirtless, tan arms crossed in front of his absurdly broad chest as he leans against the doorway to the kitchen. Those godforsaken sleep pants sit low as ever on his hips and Elain tries very, very hard to look away from the outline of what’s underneath them.

“What?” It’s all she can say, the word leaving her lips in an embarrassing squeak as she finally drags her eyes back up to his face. She crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly extremely aware of how thin her nightgown is when she realises where his eyes linger as they sweep over her.

“You’ve been cleaning more than usual.” He answers. “Even things that are already clean… like that countertop.” His chin juts towards the surface she’d just wiped down for the fourth or fifth time tonight.

“There was a… crumb…” She says it like a question, like she doesn’t believe her own lie. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?” Azriel straightens, his arms falling to his side as he leaves the threshold and walks towards her, stopping just a few feet from where she’s standing. 

Elain draws in a long breath as she tries to make peace with the fact that he clearly isn’t skirting around the topic any longer.

“I don’t… I haven’t been…” 

“You said my name.” He interrupts her fumbling words. “You said my name and then you haven’t been able to look me in the eyes since.”

There it was - the answer to the question that had been haunting her all these weeks. 

She’d said his name. Out loud. 

She’d said his name out loud and he had heard her. Azriel knew that the vision had been about him and she could just about die from embarrassment.

“Tell me what you saw, Elain.” He takes another step forward and her breath catches in her chest. 

The sound of her name from his lips sends a ripple of anticipation through her along with a renewed wave of arousal that she feels high on her thighs. By the slightest flare of his nostrils, she knows he can scent it on her, too. 

“I can’t.” She shakes her head, looks away from his face and looks at his bare chest instead - studies the tattoos there. Another mistake. All she wants is to know what it would feel like to run her fingers over those tattooed muscles.

“You can.” Azriel’s directly in front of her now and the scent of him has her head spinning. It’s all too much to handle and perhaps it’s her hormones but the mortification of him knowing that she’d had a vision about him gives way to pure arousal with the proximity of his body to hers.

“Will you at least tell me if you liked what you saw?” He asks when she still doesn’t say anything. He’s standing so close to her and she’s so dizzy with need that part of her wonders if this is another one of the dreams that have been haunting her nights recently.

Elain nods slowly. Azriel hums, his eyes flicker with something she can’t quite place. He’s silent for a moment, his thumb tracing his full bottom lip. She wants to run her own thumb along it.

“Do you think about it at night? When you’re alone?” His question sends a shiver down her spine. 

She nods again, bites down on her own lip to stop the whimper that threatens to escape her.

“Do you touch yourself when you think about it?” 

“Yes.” Elain breathes - admits to him with that singular word that she often spends her nights in bed with a hand between her thighs, desperately trying to find relief from the ache that plagues her by imagining his fingers in place of her own.

“Show me.”  She gasps as Azriel’s hands land on her waist, fingers pressing into her as he lifts her easily onto the countertop before stepping back. The cold granite is a welcome relief against the burn of her flushed skin. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me.” 

Elain can’t believe this is happening. That her vision may actually be coming to fruition. She cannot reconcile in her mind that she’s perched on the kitchen countertop in her sister’s home, her nightgown hitched up around her thighs and Azriel - Azriel! - has just asked her to pleasure herself in front of him. Most of all, she can’t believe that she doesn’t even really hesitate before she slides the white cotton of her dress further up her thighs.

Her desire overrides the thought at the back of her mind that tells her maybe she shouldn’t be doing this. That she has a mate and even if it means nothing to her, that she should figure out that situation before doing whatever this is. But Elain thinks that maybe… maybe if she just does this once, if she allows herself this one moment, this one night, to get it out of her system then she can sort it all out with a clear head afterwards. That maybe if they do this just once, make her vision a reality, they can go back to how easy it was between them before.

She opens her legs just enough to allow her hand to fit in between them and traces a trembling finger over herself. Her cheeks burn when she feels how wet she is and that warmth consumes her entire body when she risks looking at Azriel and sees the hunger written clearly across every inch of him. Those blessed pants of his doing very little to conceal the physical proof of his arousal.

Elain swallows back any lingering shyness and circles the nerves at the apex of her sex twice before she slides two fingers inside herself. She watches as his hazel eyes flit between her face and the hand between her thighs, as if he can’t decide which bit of her to focus on. Her eyes close as she pumps her fingers, savouring the sound of Azriel’s quiet moan at the show she’s putting on for him. 

She drags her arousal up and over her clit, increasing the pressure of her fingers to match the pressure low in her stomach when she feels large hands settle gently above her knees. The callouses and scars are gloriously rough against her supple skin as he moves higher up her legs, one hand sliding in between them. His fingers brush hers - silently asking for permission. Elain removes her hand and spreads her legs wider, offering herself to him.

His eyes catch hers just as he slips one finger inside her. She draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of that singular finger of his stretching her more than two of her own. 

“I’ve thought about this for so long.” His lips brush her throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

She wants to tell him that she feels the same, that she’s wanted him long before she’d had that vision, but Azriel adds another finger and his thumb presses against her clit and she’s lost for words. His other hand pushes her dress up around her waist before moving down to wrap around one of her calves, bending her leg up so her foot is on the counter. He does the same to the other leg and Elain leans back on her elbows to compensate for the new angle. 

She’s unable to look away as he stands, eyes raking over her as he nudges her knees wider before bending down. His hands are back on her, one spreading her open while two fingers of the other sink back inside her and curl upwards. Their moans combine, echoing through the quiet kitchen when he lowers his mouth and gets a taste of her for the first time, his tongue runs flat up her centre before his lips wrap around her clit.

It only takes a couple minutes under the spell of his tongue before Elain is coming for him, her thighs threatening to close around his head. Azriel takes it all in stride, doesn’t let up until her legs relax and her hands are in his hair pushing him away. 

“Is that what we were doing?” He teases, pressing a kiss to the curve of each hip as he looks up at her. “In your vision?”

“No.” She pants. His hands are running over her thighs, up under her dress. His fingers graze her stomach, trace along the underside of her breasts before his hands are over them, palming them gently. 

“Tell me, then.” He slips his hands around her back, lifts her until she’s sitting up and they’re chest to chest. His face is inches from hers, his eyes lock on hers - he won’t let her look away this time. 

“We…” Elain can’t resist the urge to touch him anymore. She reaches out a hand, traces the black ink on his shoulder and bites back a smile when she feels him tense. “You had me… over the counter.”

Azriel’s eyes darken as he takes in her words.

Elain eases herself down until her feet are on the floor, her nails dig into Azriel’s arm as she stands on shaking legs. She looks up at him, presses her lips to the centre of his chest while her hand travels down between their bodies. She pushes the soft fabric of his pants down, feels the weight of his cock against her stomach through her nightgown. 

Her fingers wrap around him, her small hand barely able to encircle him. She looks down, swallows at the sight of him hard and leaking in her palm. She drags her hand up the thick length of him and tries to figure out how he’ll even fit inside her. 

“You can take it.” He must’ve seen the apprehension in her eyes when they’d widened as she looked at him. “You know you can take it.”

His fingers land on her hips again, turning her so quickly that she doesn’t even register what’s happening until he presses on the small of her back and leans her forward until she’s bent over the counter. His back hovers over hers, his lips drag along her shoulder and up her neck until his teeth gently close around her earlobe. “Is this how you want it?”

“Please.” Elain turns her head to look at him over her shoulder and pushes back into him, desperate to finally have him in her.

“So eager.” Azriel grins against her skin, pulling her dress back up her legs until it’s bunched around her waist. His hands are on her ass, fingers kneading into her flesh. “Spread your legs a bit wider for me.”

Elain listens, spreads her legs and pulls herself up onto her tiptoes to compensate for their difference in height. Azriel guides himself along her sex, coats himself in her release, and settles the broad head of his cock at her entrance. 

“If it’s too much, tell me.” He eases in, just an inch - pausing when she curses at the way he stretches her. 

“More.” She tells him, resolute. He’s barely even inside her and it already feels so good, the slight pain of her body adjusting to him only adds to the pleasure. “I can take it.” 

Elain turns her head to the side, sees the reflection of them mirrored in the dark window. She has the fleeting thought that maybe they shouldn’t be doing this in the kitchen, in front of a window where anybody could see them. The thought disintegrates when she watches Azriel sink into her in one drawn out movement until his hips are flush against her backside. 

He groans, somehow pushing in just a little further until there’s no space between their bodies at all and then he starts moving - gives her long, teasing strokes that has her anxious for more. 

“Fuck, Elain.” Azriel’s fingers dig into her hips and she prays that the imprint of them lingers long after this encounter ends. She wants the proof that this happened to stay with her. “So wet, so fucking tight for me. How am I supposed to hold back when you feel like this?”

“Don’t.” She pleads, pushes back hard against him to prove her point. “Don’t hold back.”

His teeth graze her shoulder as his hands settle on the counter beside hers right as he thrusts in again, the momentum sends her surging forward, cold granite presses hard against her nipples. The strap of her nightgown falls off her shoulder as her hands slam against the smooth stone to keep her from collapsing completely.

“Like that?” The hint of arrogance in his tone tells her he already knows the answer. 

“More.” She grits out. 

The assurance with which she says it is all he needs before he complies, picking up his pace as he fucks her. His lips move against her ear, talking her through it.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? To fuck you like this? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about the way your pretty little cunt would feel around my cock?”

Elain whimpers at his words. The language he uses causes her to clench around him.

“It’s even better than I imagined.” His pace is relentless. Elain’s nails scratch at the surface as she fights for leverage. 

She’s already close when she feels his hand land sharply on her ass, the sound of the slap coupled with the light sting forces a small scream out of her. 

“Again.” She demands, surprising even herself - she hadn’t expected that she’d like that so much.

“Greedy girl… you like it rough like this, do you?” His palm lands against her with a little more force. “Want me to fuck you so hard that you think of my cock with every step you take tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes! Harder, Azriel. Please!” Elain begs him.

“Fuck.” Azriel moans as his hand meets her ass again hard enough that her skin goes pink. “Say that again.” 

“Harder.” Elain repeats, waits for the impact.

“No.” Azriel delivers a particularly hard thrust as his hand makes contact with her ass for the fourth time. He rubs over the ghost of a mark that remains on her skin, soothing it before bringing his hand down again. “Say my name.”

“Azriel.” She breathes, attempting to catch her breath. 

“Louder, Elain.” The demand in his voice has her arching her back, trying to get him even deeper inside her.

“Azriel!” She moans, louder this time. His name from her lips sets him off, has him well and truly fucking her, hard and fast, just like she’s begging him to until she’s unable to do anything else except shout his name. “Fuck, fuck… Azriel!” 

“That’s it, Elain. Scream for me, I don’t care who hears.” She feels his tongue on her neck, marking her. “Let everyone know who’s fucking you like this, yeah? Let everyone know you’re mine. Tonight, you’re mine.” 

Sex had been fine for her previously, occasionally it had even been good, but this - in this new body, with him. There was nothing like it. It’s somehow better than her vision - every sensation that she had felt was nothing compared to what she was experiencing now. Everything had intensified. The sound of skin meeting skin was louder, the burn in her calves and core even greater. The weight of him on top of her was even heavier, felt even better.

The feeling is incomprehensible. The way he fills her, the friction of his cock sliding in and out of her sex. The pure pleasure that’s quickly building low in her stomach as he angles his hips up and brings a hand in between her thighs, circling her clit. The rasp of her voice, the way her screams echo through the kitchen - through the empty house - as she comes around him. It’s all so obscene, so perfectly right.

“Good girl. You’re so fucking good for me.” Azriel praises her, fingers still moving in soft circles against her until she relaxes around him, until her breath steadies.

Elain almost cries at the emptiness she feels when he abruptly pulls out of her, his hand lightly fisting her hair to pull her up and turn her around. Her nightgown is completely askew, her breasts half exposed to the cool night air. 

Azriel makes quick work of getting her on the floor, laying her on her back as he settles back in between her legs. She draws her knees up, wraps her legs around his waist, pulls him closer. He threads his fingers through hers as he brings their joined hands above her head. “I need to see your pretty face when you come for me this time.”

She wasn’t sure if she even could come again but she’s still so sensitive from her last orgasm that when he enters her again and hits that spot inside her at the same time his pelvis makes contact with her clit, her body goes taut. This release hits her even harder than the second and she cries out his name. It’s so overwhelming that actual tears form in the corner of her eyes. Azriel’s hands clutch hers tighter, pinning her down as his own rhythm starts to falter.

“I’m right there with you.” His voice is strained. “Gonna come so deep inside you. Would you like that, Elain? Want me to come in you?” 

“Yes.” Elain replies without an ounce of hesitation, her eyes burning into his. “Make me yours.”

She doesn’t take her eyes off him as he finishes, as his hips slam tight against hers. She studies the beautiful planes of his face, the way his lips form her name - commits to memory the way he moans it as he comes. He’s buried so deep inside her that she can feel the way his cock twitches as he fills her. He gives her so much of himself that she feels it drip down her thighs even before he pulls out of her.

Azriel presses a kiss to her cheek, carefully untwining his hands from hers as he sits back on his heels and kneels in between her legs. Elain raises up onto her elbows to watch as he brings two fingers between thighs. She lets out a quiet cry at the feeling of his fingers gliding over her overstimulated sex, collecting their combined arousal. 

When he brings his fingers up to her mouth, she opens for him. Wraps her lips around them and sucks. Their eyes are still locked as she licks his fingers clean.

“So beautiful.” Azriel whispers, withdrawing his fingers from her mouth. He cups the side of her neck with that same hand and lowers his lips to hers for the first time.

It should’ve been the last time, too. 

One night. One time. That’s what she’d told herself just a little while ago. It was stupid, really, to think that was even a possibility.

“Elain?” Azriel’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts and back to reality, as it alway seemed to do..

“Hm?” She hums, their faces are barely an inch apart. He pulls her up and into his lap, holds her close to him. Her legs wrap around his waist, her arms drape around his shoulders. 

“What’s your preferred cleaning solution because I think the counter might be in need of a clean.” 

Elain can’t help but laugh at the small smirk on his face. She’s amused but also relieved, so thankful that he’s back to interrogating her. So grateful that they can resume these easy moments and their shared laughter. 

“I’m partial to vinegar…” She bites her lip, her eyes flickering down to his lips. “But I don’t think it’s clean up time just yet.” 

“No?” Azriel’s unable to hold back his smile. 

“No.” Elain shakes her head, slotting her mouth over his for their second kiss. 

Once was never going to be enough. 

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 5

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major.

Word Count: 5,402

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Sorry, this chapter is a bit longer than usual, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. 😘

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Over the next two weeks, Dean did whatever he could to avoid being around Y/N.  He was determined that the morning at the river was simply going to be a weird one off. It was some kind of reaction to Y/N’s unfamiliar presence. Her emotions and her rose-colored outlook on the world had contaminated him somehow. 

He didn’t know why, but there was something about her that always made him question his decisions, constantly rework his plans. She just brought something out in him, so he stayed the hell away from her as much as possible.

He knew she’d set up the school and begun teaching. But there again, she’d made him change his plans. The plan had been to use the sheds behind the cabin for storage; that was the whole reason for building them! 

But apparently Y/N had worked her magic with Brandy and before he knew it the sensible, practical woman had him convinced to let Y/N and the kids take up one of their very limited storage spaces, just to sit around doing algebra and reading poetry - or whatever she was teaching them. 

It was ridiculous. 

But even though he avoided her during the day, there was no turning off his brain at night, when he closed his eyes and visions of her soft curves and the memory of her silky skin beneath his fingers plagued his thoughts. He told himself to smarten up, that he had so many more important things to be thinking about. 

He decided he just needed sex; it had been too long. So one night he showed up in Risa’s tent after midnight and she opened her arms to him the way she always did. 

But as he kissed her and moved his hands over her body, her gentle sighs and soft moans weren’t doing what he needed them to, and he realized he was being an asshole trying to replace one woman with another. Risa was a good soldier and she’d been a soft place for him to land too many times to just use her as a distraction. 

So he got up and left, giving her a lame excuse, “I forgot I have to be up early tomorrow to…go over things with Johnston.” He tried not to notice Risa’s frown. He couldn't tell if she was mad or sad, and he didn't really want to stick around to find out. 

As the days moved on, he realized it was next to impossible to completely avoid Y/N, whether day or night. Because no matter how he tried to ignore her, he saw her influence everywhere. He could sense a shift in the air, he swore people were smiling more and every once in a while, he could hear kids laughing loudly.

That was a foreign sound nowadays, and it unnerved him. And smiling seemed foolish. What was there to smile about? Being happy just invited tragedy. He knew in the old days he would have been called a pessimist. But he was simply being a realist as he'd always been. He called things as they were, and he wasn't about to let a pretty smile and a bouncy attitude change that.

One evening, about a month after Y/N arrived at the camp, Dean was headed to the storage shed to take a thorough inventory before they left the next day on a raid - one of their last before the snows came in mid November. He knew they were gonna need more propane than what they had stored in order to run the generator over the winter. The generator ran the fridge and freezer where they kept their food stored. 

It could also power the electricity in the big cabin for a little while if needed. There had been nearly a week last winter that had been so piercingly cold that they’d all needed to jam themselves into the cabin and run the electric heat as much as possible. It had simply been too cold for the little camp stoves in the tents; the wood-burning stoves just couldn’t generate enough heat to combat the intense cold that seeped through the thick canvas walls. 

So their generator had saved them, and it ran on propane, which meant they needed more than enough to last through another possible cold snap.

Dean had deliberately waited to start the task until it was nearly sundown since the school would be empty by then and he could avoid running into the teacher that worked there. 

But as he approached the small building he could see a wavering light in the window - a lamp moving towards him. Before he could turn and leave (he wasn’t going to call it running away) Y/N stepped out into the semi-darkness and gasped as she saw him standing there.

She put the hand not holding the kerosene lamp to her chest. “Oh my lord!” She breathed out raggedly. “You scared me half to death.” But she was chuckling as she said it and walked closer to him.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I uh…I thought you’d be gone.” He knew he sounded slightly accusatory. “Why are you still here? Haven’t the kids been gone for hours?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I came back to put up the gift we got from Tom Richardson.” She waved him towards the building behind her. “You should come see the school.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’ve got…I have to -”

She cut him off with wide, pleading eyes. “Please?” She added a bright, imploring smile and Dean shook his head. Why was he even bothering to say no to her at this point? He gestured for her to lead the way into the little building and he followed at a distance. 

They walked in and she set the lamp on the small table in the corner and turned it up full so that it completely lit up the tiny room. She held her arms out to the sides, showing off her little schoolroom with pride.

“What do you think?”

He shook his head. “It’s uh…pretty empty.” He said looking around. 

Y/N shrugged and seemed a little deflated. “It’s a work in progress.”

Dean grunted his acknowledgement and continued his sweep of the room. On the floor against the back, Northern, wall were a couple of piles of wool blankets, and right above them was a mural of multicolored leaves stuck to the wall. 

When she saw him looking at it and frowning, Y/N explained. “I got the kids to find a bunch of pretty, fallen leaves, and then we used some tree sap as glue to stick them up. I got to teach them a little bit about trees and ecosystems, and we also made something pretty to hang on the wall.”

He nodded at the blankets. “Is that where the kids sit?”

“Yeah.” She said with another shrug. “We’re a little packed in, but it keeps us warm. The blankets just take the chill out of the floor and make it a bit softer to sit on.”

Dean nodded absently and looked left, his eye catching on the only other object in the room. It was a paper map hanging on the western wall, held in place by two small nails. 

Dean frowned again. “Is that a map of America?”

Y/N nodded excitedly. “Yeah, that was the gift from Tom Richardson. It was so kind of him. His son, Jonah is a sweet little guy, but I guess he’s been pretty quiet over the last year or so. He lost his mom just before he and Tom got to Chitaqua?” She said, clearly using the words as a question to see if he knew who she was talking about.

Dean nodded, a vague recollection coming to his mind of a big burly guy and a scrawny little kid. He remembered thinking the guy would be a hard worker, and the kid probably wasn’t gonna make it. He’d looked pretty sick.

Y/N continued. “Well, I guess since he started school he’s been talking more in the evenings, even asking Tom questions about The Knights of the Round Table. I’ve been sharing some of the legends with them this week. So, Tom was grateful and as a thank you, he gave us this map that he’d kept tucked away in his backpack all this time. Said it made him feel peaceful to look at it and remember better times. But he thought we could use it more.”

She smiled wistfully and gazed at the slightly ratty map.

“Why?” Dean asked with a slight jolt in his gut. He waved at the map. “It’s not like this anymore.”

Y/N nodded and lowered her gaze to the ground. “Yeah, I know, but the general shape of the country is still the same, and I can use it as half geography, half history.”

When she looked back up at him, her face was set in lines of disappointment. She waved her hand to encompass the whole hundred and fifty square feet. “You don’t like it?” She asked with a weak chuckle.

Dean shrugged. “No it's, I mean, it’s fine. You know, work in progress, like you said.”

Y/N nodded and smiled, looking a little bolstered. “Yeah, slow but sure. And you know,” her smile turned shy, “I’ve really wanted to thank you for giving up the space for the school, I know this wasn’t what the shed was earmarked for.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, Brandy made sense. Can’t have the kids wandering around outside after the cold comes.”

Y/N frowned. “I’ve wanted to thank you, but every time I’ve looked for you, I seem to have just missed you.”

Dean scowled defensively. “Just busy.” 

Y/N nodded.

“Well look,” Dean said, backing away, “I gotta get to…stuff.” He shook his head. “I mean, we’re leaving on a raid tomorrow and I gotta prepare for it.”

“Oh, be careful.” Y/N said, biting her lip in concern.

It was far too hard for Dean to rip his eyes away from where her teeth sunk into the satiny sweep of her bottom lip. But he jerked his head up and then spun away as he answered her. “Always am.”

***

The raid was successful; in fact it was one of the most successful ones they’d ever had. They’d traveled all the way to St. Louis, hoping to find some gas stations there that hadn’t been picked clean. But they had no luck. Since going home empty-handed wasn’t an option, they went North to Springfield and hit the jackpot. 

They found an old Costco on the outskirts of the city that had barely been hit. They filled and loaded up enough propane tanks to see them through the winter and then some. 

They also loaded up as much food as they could, and even found some usable meds left in the pharmacy there. They grabbed clothes and kitchen things like plates and pots, utensils, also managing to find a few things that had become rare and quite precious, like eyeglasses and sunglasses. They also found spare tires and car parts, and a few simple pieces of practical furniture. They took as much as they could load into the back of two trucks and a Jeep. 

Dean packed up one more big box, setting it on top of the others; it was just something he thought might come in handy. He refused to think too long about why he’d gathered together the things in the box.

They made it back to camp less than two days after they left, a record for a raid. They usually took a week or more because they had to scavenge through a bunch of different cities, and fight off masses of Croats. But this time, they didn't see any Croats at all, and they'd scored an incredible haul quickly, which meant that, barring some kind of catastrophe, they wouldn't have to go out again until the snow melted. 

They pulled into the camp around noon and Dean spent a few hours helping to unload the trucks and organize where everything went. When the campers saw the piles of booty in the trucks, people actually started clapping. An air of joviality pervaded as they all worked together to put things away until the next day. At which point they'd begin accounting for it all, sharing what was needed immediately, and then safely storing away the rest. 

Y/N and her students left their little schoolroom to come help as well and the kid’s eyes were wide and excited, looking at everything that had been brought back as though it was Christmas Eve. 

When everything was unloaded, Dean grabbed the box he’d put aside and brought it to Y/N who’d returned to the school to drop off the two folding chairs she’d claimed for the classroom.

He knocked on the open door, grateful for the hard wood beneath his knuckles this time. Y/N turned to face him and her eyes were almost as bright and excited as the kids’.

“Hi!” She said enthusiastically. “Wow, you guys sure brought home the bacon on this raid!”

Dean shook his head. “No bacon. It was fairly rancid.”

Y/N chuckled lightly and scrunched up her nose. “Yeah, wise decision to leave that behind.”

Dean nodded and set the big box on the plywood floor with a heavy thump. “This is for you. For the school.” He amended.

Y/N looked a bit dumbfounded for a moment and her eyes got even rounder before she dropped to her knees and pulled open the flaps of the box. 

When she saw what was inside her gasp was deep and her hands flew to her mouth. She looked up at him in complete shock before reaching reverently into the box to take out one of the books that sat inside.

“Books.” She whispered, as she stared at the paperback in her hands. She reached into the box again and pulled out another book and then another and another until her arms were full of them.

She looked up at him, tears falling and her gaze rapturous. “Oh my god, Dean.”

Dean felt his face flush and he looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just figured the classroom could use ‘em and they were just sitting there on the shelves. There’s a bunch of kids books underneath,” he said pointing inside the box. “And paper and pencils and some crayons, a few coloring books. There weren’t many of them so-”

He was interrupted as Y/N dropped the books back into the box and launched herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed tight. He stood stock still for a minute before he patted her back awkwardly and dropped his arms back to his side.

She pulled back and brushed away her happy tears, sniffling loudly. “Sorry. I just…” She knelt down again and picked up another book, holding it tight to her chest. She shook her head. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed books. It’s been years since I’ve even seen one let alone had the chance to read one.”

She reached in for one of the children’s books and laughed. “Oh my gosh, the kids are gonna be ecstatic.”

Dean shrugged, thoroughly embarrassed by Y/N’s joy and gratitude. He cleared his throat before speaking. “There’s a limited supply of paper and pencils, and I have no idea how long it will be before we find more, if we ever do, so…”

He trailed off and Y/N put the books back into the box and folded the flaps closed again. “So, we’ll be sure to write very tiny, erase a lot, and wear the pencils down to little nubs.” She said as she stood and bent to heft the box up from the floor. Dean stepped forward to grab it from her as she staggered slightly beneath its weight.

“You’ll break your back.” Dean barked at her as he reached for the box. 

But she just shook her head and turned away with the box still in her arms. “N’ah I’m stronger than I look.” She said, huffing and puffing as she dropped it onto the table. 

Dean shook his head. Yeah, I bet you are. He thought.

After a moment Y/N turned and walked slowly back towards him. “So, I can’t exactly buy you dinner as a thank you. But if you bring your rations over to our tent, I can cook them all up for us.”

She smiled at him, friendly and sweet, but Dean was backing away. “No, that’s not necessary.”

“I know it isn’t, but it will make me feel good to do this one small favor for you in return for this amazingness.” She said with a wave towards the box.

Dean planned to say no, had it on the tip of his tongue but when he opened his mouth what came out was, “Okay.”

So barely an hour later he found himself sitting at her table with dinner laid out in front of him. It was a sufficiently celebratory meal of salted venison from an eight point buck the camp hunters had taken down in early summer, boiled potatoes, and a can of green beans that was older than Emma.

It was the best meal Dean had eaten in a long time.  

After the food was finished and the dishes were washed, Y/N made them a cup of coffee and he sat drinking it as she settled Emma into bed with a kiss. His stomach was full of decent food, the coffee smelled old but still strong, and the sound of Y/N’s soft voice as she tucked her daughter in, was incredibly soothing. He found himself relaxing into his chair in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. His muscles lost some of their rigidity and he breathed out a long sigh, as though he’d been holding his breath for too long.

After a few minutes Y/N came back to the table and sat down with her own soft exhale. She took a sip of her coffee and then looked at Dean over the rim of her tin cup. “You know, I don’t think you really understand what you’ve done here.”

Dean cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, questioning her. She smiled and set down her cup, shifting slightly in her chair.

“Since all of this started, we’ve been on the move, Emma and I. In the beginning, when Emma was still a baby, I’d come across different groups of people and we’d travel together for a while or we’d manage to hole up somewhere for the winter and wait out the cold together. But inevitably the groups always fell away; sometimes we’d just decide to go in separate directions, but sometimes animosity or greed would take over and violence would erupt. People would fight over who was in charge and they’d fight over resources.” Y/N shook her head. “It almost always ended up a disaster.”

She shrugged. “So after a while, I just lit out on my own with Emma. It was scary as hell, of course - no back up, no partners, all on my own with a four year old. But it also meant no one stealing my stuff, or throwing me to the wolves at the first sign of trouble.” 

She took another sip of coffee and Dean wondered at the shadows in her usually bright eyes. What stories in her past had created them?

Her voice was soft when she continued. “It’s been incredibly hard and there’s been,” her eyelashes fluttered and closed, “there's been a lot of bad.” 

She set down her cup and sat back in her chair, rubbing at her eyes with her fingers like she was scratching out the images behind her eyelids.

When she looked at him again, her eyes were soft and warm. “So, to come here, to see what you’ve accomplished in just a few years?” Her voice was full of wonder. “Dean, it’s like a miracle. I mean you’ve made it safe here, at least a hell of a lot safer than anywhere else out there - there are guards protecting us! People work together, contribute their skills and strengths for the benefit of the group as well as themselves.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen anything like it in a very long time. What you’ve created here is an oasis.”

Dean snorted at that. “Oasis?” He asked incredulously. Her praise and wonderment made him feel an itchy kind of awkwardness. He didn’t deserve it.

But Y/N was nodding solemnly. “Yes. It’s a safe haven in a world filled with evil. What would you call it?”

Dean took a gulp of coffee and then licked his lips, looking at her for a moment before speaking. “Y/N this is only an oasis in the sense that it’s a mirage in a desert; it’s an illusion. We’re managing to get by through lucky choices and good timing. We push through from day to day, but I’m telling you this whole place could fall apart in an instant. One long, bad, winter, or one coordinated attack from another camp or a pack of Croats, and we’re done.”

He paused to try and let that sink in before continuing. “And the survivors here work together because it’s beneficial to them. But if things get desperate again,” he looked at her pointedly, “don’t think for one second that they'll hesitate to throw you to the wolves like all the others.” He shrugged. “It’s human nature, survival of the fittest, and anyone who thinks otherwise is gonna get trampled.”

He said it as a warning, still determined to dislodge the Pollyanna ideal of good and virtuous humanity from her mind.

But Y/N just smiled and leaned across the table to squeeze his hand. “Guess we’ll see. But in the meantime, you should be proud. No matter what happens, you’ve done good.”

Dean swallowed down the rest of his coffee in one gulp and stood up, pulling his hand away from her warm touch. He was desperate to get away from the softness and understanding in her gaze. He thanked her for cooking dinner and left quickly, promising himself as he walked back to his tent that he wasn’t going to do that again.

But as with most things to do with Y/N that decision didn’t last long, and soon enough that one evening turned into a bit of a ritual. Every few days or so Dean would show up with some of his rations and Y/N would combine them with what they had, and they’d all eat together at their tiny table.

Every time he left her tent, he told himself he’d had his last meal there with Y/N and Emma. Yet within a few days, he’d be back again. He told himself it was just something to break the monotony of camp life, just something a little different from the ordinary.

But the truth was he was beginning to crave the evenings spent across from Y/N, listening to her rattle on about her students and their achievements, or else answering her seemingly endless questions about the camp and how it had come to be. He even enjoyed listening to her talk to Emma, telling her stories before she tucked her in for the night. 

Once the little girl was asleep, Dean usually hightailed it out of there, because without the kid as a buffer it became much harder to ignore Y/N’s inviting lips and tempting curves.

But one night, three weeks after returning home from the raid, Y/N followed him outside as he abruptly left the tent. 

“Dean.” She called after him. 

The sun had set almost an hour before and the night was dark and cold; Dean returned to her side and admonished her. “It’s freezing out here, go back inside.”

Y/N just rubbed her hands up and down her arms and shrugged. “I’m fine.”

He shook his head at her stubbornness, and then waited silently. When she didn’t say anything right away he spread his arms wide.

“What?” He asked impatiently. 

“I just…” Y/N stuttered for a moment. “I just wanted to say that I really like when you come for dinner.”

Dean clenched his jaw as she looked up at him with heat in her gaze, an invitation in her eyes, plain as day. He told himself to walk away but instead, he raised his hand to trail his fingers down her cheek. 

“You should go inside.” He warned her again, even as he lowered his head towards her. “S’cold.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m very warm.” She smiled and licked her lips and it was his undoing.

He yanked her up against him and crushed her lips with his own. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, inhaling her sweet scent and hardening at the way she clutched the front of his jacket and whimpered softly. He moved his hands so that one clutched at her waist and the other one grabbed hold of the back of her head so he could keep her pressed to him tightly.

He didn't know how long he would have continued kissing her, or whether he might have taken things even further. But luckily there was a loud noise of something crashing somewhere in camp, followed by laughter. 

The sound was like a bucket of cold water being poured on him and Dean ripped himself away from Y/N's mouth. They were both breathing heavily, panting really.

“Fuck.” Dean swore roughly before he turned abruptly and left. He fully admitted to himself that this time, he was definitely running away.

***

Dean barely slept and woke up the next day berating himself for the night before. For fuck’s sake he’d been making out with Y/N with her kid just on the other side of a canvas wall - kissing her in the wide open, where any other camper might have walked by. He didn’t need things to be more complicated than they were already. 

As the morning wore on, he made up his mind to talk to Y/N that very afternoon. He'd just tell her straight out that what happened between them just couldn't happen again. It was only going to confuse things and make everything harder than it needed to be. 

He nodded; he could do this. He was practical and he didn't hem and haw or tiptoe around things. He'd just tell her straight out how things were going to be. 

He knew she'd be in the big cabin as the school day ended, so he walked over and stepped inside the door, hoping she'd be almost done for the day.

Ever since he brought her the books, she'd been reading to the kids at the end of every school day. Parents had started swinging by the school, ostensibly to meet their kids, but really, they wanted to watch their kids' faces and listen to their giggles as Y/N read the stories in funny voices and occasionally got the kids to join her in acting out silliness from the books. 

But the crowd of parents and kids had gotten a bit too big for the tiny schoolroom, so on the last day of every week, Y/N had taken to reading to the kids and parents together in the big cabin. The adults usually sat on the floor behind the kids, keeping their hands busy with mending clothes or knitting, or else they stood at a table and worked on something like repairing holes in tents or making snares for the hunters. The work allowed them to justify their enjoyment of the stories. 

As Dean walked inside now, Y/N was finishing up the storybook in her hand. He could see it was The Paper Bag Princess and Y/N was on the last page.

“‘Ronald’, said Elizabeth, ‘your clothes are really pretty and your hair is very neat.” Y/N read aloud in Elizabeth’s decisive voice. 

“You look like a real prince. But you,” Y/N paused for effect, “are a bum.’”

All the kids were giggling as she read the last line. 

“They didn't get married after all.”

The kids clapped and even the parents were chuckling at the way the paper bag princess had put the snooty prince in his place.

“I love that story!!” A little redheaded girl in the front gushed. 

“It's my mommy's favorite story.” Emma said loudly. “Right Mommy?”

Y/N nodded. “When I was your age for sure.”

Dean pushed away from the wall he was leaning on, trying to signal Y/N so she'd hurry up and finish. But the little girl in the front demanded her full attention as she bounced up to lean against Y/N's knees where she sat in the chair.

“Cause your mommy read it to you?”

Dean was seriously considering ordering everyone out. He wanted to get this over with.

But Y/N's next words stopped him dead in his tracks. 

She was shaking her head as she tucked the little girl's red hair behind her ear. “No, my mommy passed away a long time ago when I was just a baby. So she never really got to read me stories.”

Y/N kept talking, but Dean only heard a hot, pulsing, rushing sound in his ears. A million thoughts were slamming through his mind at once as he felt a cold shiver run through him.

He yelled over the sound of the people around him beginning to chatter and get ready to leave.

“How?”

Y/N looked up at his bellow, her face shocked. “What?”

Dean was aware of his surroundings only just enough to brusquely order everyone out of the cabin.

“Now!” He barked and the mood in the room shifted quickly as parents grabbed up their children and gave The Boss a wide berth as his eyes burned at Y/N like green fire.

Everyone disappeared and it was just Y/N, Dean and Emma left. 

Dean felt his heart hammering in his chest as he took a step back from where she stood. 

Y/N's face was completely confused and clearly perplexed. “Dean what-”

He cut her off. “How?” He bellowed again before swallowing and asking in a slightly quieter tone. “How did your mother die when you were a baby?”

Y/N shook her head. “Why? What are you-”

“Answer me.” Dean's voice wasn't loud, but his words were clipped and he could hear the steel behind his words, feel the cold seeping into his bones as the tumblers in his mind fell into place, opening the lock concealing the reason behind Y/N’s miraculous survival of the virus.

Y/N blinked rapidly for a moment before exhaling slowly. “It was a - a fire. Some kind of electrical short or something.”

“In your nursery.” Dean said softly.

Y/N shrugged, her face scrunched up in confusion. “I'm not sure. My dad didn't really like to talk about it.”

As he stood staring at the woman with the bloodshot eyes, a moment from so long ago, once again from that first time they'd faced the Croatoan virus, materialized in his memory.

Again his brother's face bloomed in his mind, and he heard his own voice speaking.

“I swear I'm gonna lose sleep over this one. I mean why here, why now?”

And Sam's bewildered reply. “And why was I immune?”

Well now he knew why his brother had been immune. Because Yellow Eyes had wanted him to be, to make him a better soldier, a better, more powerful psychic to lead his demon army. And of course, he’d needed to be sure Lucifer's true vessel was strong and able enough to withstand the demon germ warfare he planned to release upon the world as a way to kickstart the apocalypse.

Dean stared at Y/N, angry beyond belief. Angry at her and what she really was, angry at himself for taking so long to figure it out and for falling for her game, and unbelievably angry at the universe for proving once again that it was laughing at him. 

His voice was ice when he spoke. “What kind of psychic are you? What can you do?” He shook his head. “What have you done already?"

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[blue--ingenue]

"Evasive Maneuvers" - Part 5

Read the next part

Summary: You've been in love with Sebastian since the moment you knocked him on his arse on your first day. Entering your sixth year, you finally begin working up the courage to confess your feelings when he suddenly becomes the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in decades - and subsequently becomes the school's most eligible bachelor.

Author's Notes: i apologize for the long wait, but this is also the longest chapter yet, so i hope that makes up for it :) oh, boy. seb is Messy and smitten and definitely isn't picking up on Ominis' sarcasm. this fic would be so much shorter if our boy knew how to talk about his feelings, but fortunately unfortunatly this is not the case, so here we are. anyway, eat up, and let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Sebastian had become distant. One day he was walking her to her dormitory after dinner, like he always insisted upon doing, and the next morning he was avoiding her like the plague. His absence was so complete that she couldn’t even approach him to ask what was bothering him. He would slip through the door the second each of their shared classes was over and she’d be lucky just to catch a glimpse of him in the halls, if at all. After three days of frustratingly trying to track him down, she resorted to sending him an owl. She felt absolutely ridiculous as she scrawled a hasty ‘Meet me in the Undercroft after dinner. I need to know that you aren’t truly avoiding me.’

They had been practically inseparable for the past few years, and now here she was, sending him post as though they didn’t live beneath the same roof. She held her quill just above the scrap of parchment before adding ‘Please.’ There. He’d never denied her anything before, but she wasn’t about to take her chances. Not when she missed him so. The subtle begging tone in her message was the last weapon she had left in her arsenal. After impatiently blowing on the drying ink, she folded the note and held it out for Astra to clutch. As her owl flew off with the desperate message she silently hoped today would be the last day she endured his absence.

-

Wind snapped the tails of Sebastian’s robe as he pushed his broom to fly faster. He’d pushed his goggles to the top of his head to keep his curls from blocking his vision, which meant that every gust of air sent his eyes watering over and over again. He didn’t care. The sting was a welcome sensation that kept him grounded as torrents of confounding emotions roiled through his mind. Ever since his earth-shattering revelation in Potions, Sebastian had steered clear of her. He was hanging onto a ledge, torn between telling her and swallowing down his affections lest she see him as nothing more than a friend. He could feel the gravity of the former option dragging at his resolve, but the fear of rejection was a far more vicious motivator to keep hanging on. 

He curled his fist tighter around his bat, leather gloves creaking under the strain. This was the last bit of practice he’d get before the anticipated Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match this afternoon and he didn’t intend to squander it. The two bludgers he’d charmed to fly about and aim at him were circling just beneath. He pulled his arm in and back, preparing to deflect as the wind whistled and parted around the first bludger shooting toward him. He waited until it was just barely within arms’ reach - and felt a satisfying crack as his bat made contact. He had half a mind to fling every bludger right into Weasley’s stupid charming face. He knew he harbored feelings for his Gryffindor. Nobody looks at mere friends the way he had gazed at her in Potions. He would know. 

And the way she had frantically ripped his cloak from his body? He knew she had only done it to spare the rest of him from getting burned, but that didn’t stop Sebastian’s jealous mind from twisting the image into an entirely different possibility. Every night since The Incident his dreams had been plagued by thoughts of her ripping into the rest of Weasley’s clothes. Not in the Potions classroom, but somewhere far more intimate. Flashes of him kissing her senseless, of her gasping Weasley’s name, taunted nearly every waking moment. It was torture of the highest degree. Between the terror of losing her, the fledgling hope of letting himself love her, and every anguishing emotion in-between, Sebastian was an utter wreck.

It was like someone had struck him senseless and set him in the center of the Forbidden Forest telling him to find his way out without a wand. And so rather than choose a direction, he chose to stay right where he was. Avoiding the problem also, unfortunately, meant avoiding her. The logical, and by far the most terrifying, course of action would be to just tell her. Maybe she could let him down easy, and after a few weeks of awkwardness things could go back to the way they were before he - what? Before he bared his heart to her? Confessed that he’s loved her the entire time but he was too much of a bloody coward to say anything? No chance. Sebastian Sallow was known for many things, but not one of them was taking the easiest way out. He pulled off his goggles and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Despite the ache in both arms he felt more than prepared for the afternoon. He shifted his weight forward, angling the broom into an easy descent and hovering an inch above the ground. 

“Sallow!” a voice called to him from the entrance to the pitch. Imelda was waving him over, broom in hand and fully dressed in her captain’s uniform. Behind her the rest of the team were filing onto the pitch, setting their brooms down and stretching in the grass. He willed his broom forward and closed the distance between them in a single fluid motion. 

“I admire your dedication, but you should’ve been saving your strength for the match,” she chided him. He pulled his quidditch gloves from his hands as he dismounted and the broom fell the last few inches onto the grass with a soft thump.

“I was just about to head in for breakfast,” he explains. She cocks a brow at him, which is typically the sign that he’s missing something crucial.

“Sallow, it’s just past lunch. The match starts in less than an hour.”

What? That couldn’t be right. He thrust his hand into his pocket to check his watch and - Shit. He’d left it in the changing rooms. Imelda rolled her eyes without malice and pulled out two paper-wrapped packages. The smell of roast beef had him accepting both packages without thinking.

“Lucky for you, someone was keeping tabs on whether you’d eaten or not,” she scoffs as he unwraps the sandwich.

“Thanks, Imelda,” he says, truly meaning it, as he takes a greedy bite out of the roast beef sandwich. It’s his favorite, with a generous slather of mustard holding the thick-cut beef between slices of tomato, lettuce, and still-warm bread.

He scarfs down the first bite, intending to ask how she knew what his go-to meal was when she says, “I’m merely the messenger. She’s been looking for you all day. And with how tense things seem between the two of you, I figure you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

He freezes mid-chew and gulps the rest of the mouthful down. His stomach turns as his hunger dissipates and guilt settles in its place. Imelda clocks his change in demeanor and holds up a hand, silencing him before he can speak. 

“Whatever the two of you have going on, it has to wait until after the match. I can’t afford to have you distracted today. Can I count on you?” 

He pushes an affirmative around the lump forming in his throat and she relaxes, satisfied with his answer. As her form retreats toward the changing tents he rewraps the sandwich and carefully unwraps the second package. A vanilla scone sits nestled in the wax paper. The icing and butter slathered across the top have barely melted, which meant she must’ve waited until the house elves apparated a fresh batch just to grab him one. He shuts his eyes and groans. 

“I’m such an ass,” he tells the heavens.

“Indeed. Though I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to reach that conclusion,” a posh voice admonishes from behind him. He turns to face Ominis, the scone still clutched in his hand. The familiar red light pulses from the tip of his wand and he frowns.

“I’m guessing from the scent of vanilla that Imelda has passed on our mutual friend’s peace offering. Though from what I’ve heard, she isn’t the one who should be extending an olive branch,” he continues.

“I swear I meant to talk to her this morning. I just lost track of time,” he explains. Ominis sighs, a recurring sound that’s beginning to grate on Sebastian’s nerves despite the fact that he deserves every one of them. Ominis is her second-favorite Slytherin (after Sebastian, of course), and he finds it odd that they didn’t arrive at the stadium together. 

“Hold on, she is coming today, isn’t she?” he asks. Surely his recent antics weren’t enough to drive her away from the match? Ominis cocks a brow before confirming.

“She is. She told me that ‘nothing could keep her from cheering on her favorite beater’. Apparently she’s been making her own jersey to wear to the match with his last name on the back and everything.”

His whole body tenses and suddenly he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. Someone has lit a match in his chest, and every heartbeat spreads the thick, choking envy through every inch of him until it’s all he can think about. So he hadn’t imagined their affections yesterday. The gratification of being right is immolated by the raw jealousy drowning him breath by breath. He hears a high, incredulous laugh leave his lips and a hollow ringing in his head. Of course she would be cheering for Weasley. He could see her right now, clear as day, scrawling his name across a crimson jersey before pulling it on and skipping to the pitch. She wanted to cheer for Weasley? Fine. Victory would feel all the sweeter when Slytherin beat Gryffindor into the ground today.

He clenches his fists and balls up the untouched scone with the rest of the wax paper. “Whatever. I don’t know what she sees in that arrogant sod,” he spits.

“Me neither,” Ominis sighs. Sebastian allows himself to relish the miniscule victory. At least one person was on his side today.

-

Imelda had the team warm up by taking a few laps about the pitch for the next half hour. They were now huddled in the locker tent with Imelda standing before a blackboard laden with the maneuvers that were already drilled into their muscle memory. Although the flap was closed for privacy, the buzz of incoming students adding to an already-packed crowd told him they’d have quite the audience. Sebastian rolled his shoulders back and ran a hand through his hair. Good. He thrived under an audience. Imelda finished explaining a last offensive tactic to the other Chasers before turning to address the whole team.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how important this match is. Not only for our House, but for yourselves as well. If you want to represent Slytherin at the inter-school Championships, you need to play flawlessly. Not that I expect any less on any given day, of course,” she declared. Various noises of assent filled the room. She held every gaze with undivided attention. Although he and Imelda frequently bickered, he greatly admired her ability to galvanize a crowd. Seemingly satisfied with their response, she tightened her gloves and walked to grab her broom from where it was propped against a bench.

“Good. Now let’s get out there and show those amateurs how a real team wins a quidditch match.”

A round of cheers filled the tent as the rest of the players grabbed their brooms and made final adjustments to their uniforms and gear. Sebastian heard a deafening roar before Everett Clopton’s amplified voice announced the members of the Gryffindor team. Upon hearing Weasley’s name he adjusted the strap on his left glove, deciding then and there to channel every bit of his anger and frustration into playing the best game of his life. Beside him the other Slytherin Beater, Amelia Nichols, nudged his arm. 

“Rough night, Sallow?” she asked. The scowl that seemed permanently seared onto his face at any mention of Weasley must have tipped her off. 

“Just more than ready to blow off a bit of steam,” he grumbled. She snorted and went back to adjusting her gloves. “You and me both.”

The team lined up in their usual pre-flight formation, awaiting Everett’s announcement. He mounted his broom next to Amelia and gripped the handle, hovering a few inches above the ground. He heard Clopton announce Imelda as the Slytherin captain, and they pushed off. As soon as the tent flaps dropped back into place behind them, he couldn’t help the grin that took over his face. The crowd was huge. It looked like the entire school had turned up for the match. Sebastian let the adrenaline sing through his blood as they made their lap around the stadium. Students cheered as they flew past and he let the wind whip his curls into a frenzy. Sebastian hadn’t had the chance to fly before coming to Hogwarts. Though his parents owned a few brooms, he was too young to ride when they were still alive. And buying a broom had been out of the question when he and Anne moved into Solomon’s humble one-room cottage. 

Whipping through the air hundreds of feet above the ground made him feel invincible. In control. He felt far away from any problems that sank their claws into him the second his feet touched the ground. The raw power and adrenaline from exerting control over something so dangerous was addictive. He knew he looked damn good while doing it, and it certainly helped to have an audience, especially one as large as this. 

“And bringing up the defense are Beaters Amelia Nichols and Sebastian Sallow!” Everett boomed. At that Sebastian blew an exaggerated kiss toward the Slytherin stands. Imelda turned just enough to roll her eyes at him from the front of their formation before stopping in the center of the pitch. The team drifted down as one toward Madam Kogawa and the case he knew held the bludgers and snitch. The quaffle was already in her hand, and as soon as all players were within earshot she began repeating her usual pre-game reminders. But Sebastian wasn’t listening. His eyes were scanning the section of the Gryffindor stands she always sat in. She’d chosen it during his first practice. As soon as Imelda had released them he’d flown up to meet her. She wanted to make sure he could always look to the same spot, something about making it easy for him to find her so that he could focus more on the game. But as his eyes settled on her spot he saw that it had been taken up by a few Gryffindors whose names he hadn’t bothered to learn. 

The sting of disappointment flared into white-hot fury as his gaze landed on Weasley. He looked like he’d slept like a baby the night before. He was laughing at something one of the other Chasers had said, laughing without a care in the world. Prat, he thought. He decided then and there to aim every bludger at Weasley’s stupid grinning face. His stomach lurched as he remembered Ominis’ words. ‘Making her own jersey…with his last name on it.’ 

Of course. She must’ve chosen a new spot, one where her precious Garreth could spot her. He’d probably go wild the second he saw his name written across her. Sebastian didn’t realize he’d been pinning Weasley with a death glare until Amelia prodded him with her bat. 

“You alright?” as asked. He nodded tersely and gripped his bat until his knuckles cracked.

Two could play at this game. A shrill whistle pierced the crowd’s roar and he shot into the air.

-

By the last quarter of the game both teams remained locked in a deadly tie. They’d been neck and neck at 120 points for the last half hour, and if the Gryffindor Keeper didn’t slip up at some point, their only hope of victory lay with Will catching the snitch. Sebastian cruised alongside Imelda and another Chaser, shielding them for any bludgers that may try to knock them off their warpath to the Gryffindor goalposts. He hears the telltale whistle and raises his arm instinctively, smacking the bludger away from his teammates. It hurtles back toward the Gryffindor Beater who’d sent it their way. His eyes narrowed. Weasley.

The menace had the audacity to shrug his shoulders. “No harm no foul, Sallow!” he called as he zipped away.

Sebastian gritted his teeth and scanned the skies for the second bludger. As soon as it was once again struck their way he pulled his arm back, waited until it was a hair’s breadth from striking him, and smacked it toward the Gryffindor goalpost. The opposing Keeper ducked out of the way and the bludger struck the post, where his head had been a mere moment ago. That moment was all Imelda needed to toss the quaffle through the center hoop. It flew through and the resultant ding told him they were now ahead by ten points. If they could maintain their lead for the next five minutes, victory was theirs. 

Once Imelda and the two Chasers flying behind her were clear of the goal posts he gripped his broom handle and pulled up, flying well above the other players to scope out where he was needed. His eye caught on Henry, a fifth-year Chaser, who was doing his damndest to avoid being beheaded by one of the bludgers. Amos, the second Gryffindor Beater, seemed to be targeting the boy despite the fact that the quaffle was on the other side of the pitch. Sebastian shifted all his weight forward and dove for Henry, bat gripped firmly in hand. As he descended he looked to see if Weasley was complicit in the unnecessary attack, but the ginger was across the pitch defending his teammates. He flicked his gaze back to Henry and time seemed to slow. From this angle he’d have no time to duck and the damn ball would hit him square in the chest. Sebastian didn’t have to do the math to know that he wouldn’t walk away without a few broken ribs, at the very least. Without thinking, he threw himself in front of his teammate and prepared to swing. He never got the chance to strike. 

The air was punched violently from his lungs as the bludger hit him square in the diaphragm. In the second after impact he felt like retching as his vision whited out. He couldn’t breathe. Dully, he felt himself slam back into Henry, who gave way easily as he was knocked clean off his broom. He heard the crowd gasp as the Chaser plummeted toward the ground in freefall. Forcing air into his lungs he pushed himself forward until he was shooting downward at a near vertical angle. Mere meters before Henry hit the ground Sebastian caught him with two arms around his midsection and pulled out of the dive. He landed roughly in the grass with Henry safe in his arms, and froze on the pitch, dazed. Between the pulsating pain and his spotty vision he barely noticed the game had ended until Madam Blainey was pulling his teammate from his arms. She hastily thrust a vial of wiggenweld into his arms before attending to the unconscious Chaser. He uncorked the potion and downed it, nearly vomiting at the fresh waves of pain paralyzing him with each swallow. 

His teammates landed behind him and he registered shouts as his hearing came back in full force. Above the roar of the crowd Imelda was thumping him on the back. 

“You’re a bloody madman, Sallow!” she crowed. Around him the rest of the team were congratulating him for his heroics. Although the pain was ebbing, he still felt a bit dazed from the adrenaline rush.

Amelia ran up to Sebastian, pulling him into a hug and shouting, “We won!” He returned the hug gingerly, and erupted into a coughing fit when she squeezed him fiercely. At his gasps she pulled away, apologizing profusely. 

“I’m so sorry! I nearly forgot with all the excitement! Are you alright? Do you want me to fetch another wiggenweld?” She sounded genuinely panicked enough that Sebastian grasped her gently by the shoulders. He shook his head as his coughs subsided, trying to reassure her that he was on the mend.

“I’ll be alright. Honest,” he managed between gasps. She shook her head and pushed back his sweat-slicked hair. The warmth of the gesture was not lost on him, and he froze, watching her face shift from worried to…fond? And was she blushing before? Maybe he was just imagining things, shock and all. He realized his arms were still on her shoulders as she stepped closer to him, nearly flush with his chest. He gulped. 

“That rescue was incredible. Incredible, and stupid, and brave. Are you sure you’re not a Gryffindor?” she asked, smiling coyly up at him. For the first time Sebastian realized he towered over her by at least a head. She was so close he could smell her perfume, floral and heady, with a hint of vanilla. He parted his lips to answer, but fell short as he caught sight of Weasley. He was scanning the crowd of students that had stormed the field as soon as Clopton announced Slytherin’s victory. He was searching for something, or rather, someone. His Gryffindor. The one who irrevocably held his heart and was currently wearing his name across her body. The prat didn’t even have the decency to look disappointed at his own team’s loss. Something wicked licked up his spine. He let his gaze drift back down to Amelia, who was gazing at his lips with hungry eyes. 

He felt himself crossing an invisible threshold into somewhere wicked and vengeful. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, the action hollow as some part of him registered that the color was all wrong. 

“Fancy a victory kiss?” he asked, his voice low and rasping. Her lips curled into a hungry smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

At that he threaded a hand through her hair, shut his eyes despite the voice screaming wrong wrong wrong in his head, and kissed her. Deeply. He could hear the rest of the team egging them on as the celebration raged around him, but he didn’t care. For the first time in days the jealousy burning in his chest felt stamped out. He pulled away, gasping, and Amelia giggled. Her pupils were blown wide as she swayed and caught her balance by gripping at his uniform. He was just registering the dumbstruck grin on his face when Amelia’s gaze focussed on something behind him and she giggled again. 

“Whoops,” she whispered, releasing the front of his robe. He felt someone’s gaze on his back and his spine prickled as he spun around.

She was standing a few feet away. His Gryffindor. She was frozen in shock for a moment, just a moment, before her face twisted into a mix of hurt and disbelief that tore his heart in two. She was clad in green, and he had just enough time to notice the green and silver adorning her cheeks before a tear trailed down and smudged the paint. Her name had barely left his lips before she turned and ran. His stomach dropped and the pain of being hit by the bludger paled in comparison to the guilt currently eating him alive. He caught a single glimpse of her back before she was swallowed by the crowd. On her back, in hastily sewn-on letters, was his last name.

.

.

.

.

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Taglist: @snickette, @findingtruenorth23, @plooloo, @paganicher, @smilesworldsposts, @snoozebun, @crazyllamasurfer, @pixie-dustss, @margottheviking, @lollife1617, @milk-barrs-blog, @somethingiswrongwithme, @bleh-stupid, @stay-gray, @mrsbrookesallow, @lostgirl-28, @kateisnotheree, @doigettokeepyou, @dreamqueenkala

[candilee-joestar]

This took much longer than intended. I drew each of Scoria's main jobs! Here is a bit about them in lore order.

White mage- Taught some basic healing by her mother who was a well known healer in her area, White magic came most naturally to Scoria and was what she relied on in the earliest parts of her travels. Not being very physically strong, she used it almost as a crutch as she bumbled her way through the primals plaguing Eorzea, often relying on the strength of others to push her through fights. Encountering Lizzy while lost in the wilds of Gridania, she taught her some basic’s about being a conjurer. While this did help guide her, she still struggled through most encounters. She grew to resent her white magic and sought other ways to protect herself on the battle field, though, this was an uphill battle, as she had no real combat experience. It wasn’t until much later in her time on the first where she discovered the true strength of white magics, bolstered by the mass of light entering her from the flood. It was this point where she fell back in love with her roots and looked at it more as a tool in her toolbox rather than a weakness.

Red Mage- A secret love of Scoria’s was always the fights on the blood sands in Ul’dah, growing up and watching match after match with her parents. Her favorite heel, Cemi the Titan, who she’d been a long time admirer of, she became friends with and share with him her insecurities about her strength. Noticing her affinity for white magic and her total lack of strength, he felt a good stepping stone would be Red Magic and even (in a very domineering and heel-ish way, tossing it on the ground at her after besting her in combat) gifted Scoria her first rapier. Despite his non-nonchalant and demeaning disposition, the sword had clearly been hand crafted specifically for her.

She created a “Heel-Sona” for herself. Smooth and smug, dawning a set of circular, red, sunglasses (which were secretly also prescription grade as she is blind as a bat), she called herself “Drake” for her time in the coliseum. It was through this that Scoria found some ability to make her way through the dragonsong war. Touching the Eye of Nidhogg when attempting to remove it from Estinien’s body corrupted her aether with that of the wyrm’s, filling her with all his years of rage and hate. Scoria, never experiencing such feelings in this way, tried to channel it through her red mage magic, but this was not effective and often resulted in her accidentally injuring herself or her comrades.

Even after learning to channel this magic through dragoon, she still enjoyed the color it gave her aether and uses a bit of it while using her ‘Drake’ persona to give her more of an ominous glow. Dragoon- Corrupted by Nidhoggs aether, Scoria often would be doing simple tasks, sitting at home, reading the paper, and objects around her would explode in a cloud of red. She was plagued with migraines and flashes of the hate and rage of the wyrm. Visions and feelings about dragons or people she’d never met, as well as some she had, namely Estinien. After returning from Kugane and to Ala Mhigo, the problem only grew and Scoria sought out the one person who knew Nidhogg best: Estineien himself. After some long talks and begging (and some harassment from Tataru) he agreed to help her channel this rage. It was through this she grew to understand him more as a person and in turn, herself.

It was through Dragoon that Scoria finally found her true strength. It felt almost natural to her, channeling the energy of dragons and releasing it on her opponents on the battlefield. She felt swift and powerful, almost unstoppable. It was through this that she finally found a love of fighting and challenge, no longer the meek woman she once was. Her tall frame now posed to give her an advantage, having the strength to back it up.

While on the first, after being filled with so much light that she nearly became a sin eater, Nidhoggs rage and anger finally dissipated. There was so much white aether, it completely burned out any trace of him left inside her, transforming her dragoon gear and lance a brilliant white and brass color. Dancer- Scoria was never one for sexuality or showing much in the way of skin (or scales). Her parents had made it very clear from a young age how she should present herself at all times, so these desires were often suppressed, choosing to wear clothing that covered most of her body.

After marrying her husband Kahdan, she felt he did so many things for her to make her happy, she wanted to do something for him in return. Hearing about a trope of dancers in town, she went and met with them to learn more. While she didn’t gain too much in the way of sexual confidence, it did help her at least look like she did. Unable to fully commit to the relieving dresses of the other dancers, she did still find an outfit that showed off more skin than what she was used to.

Her husband, supportive as ever, purchased her an outfit in his favorite colors to wear. It was hardly clothes at all, Scoria struggled with the idea mentally of going out and being seen in something like that. Still, from time to time, as a way to help build that confidence, she would go out with him in it, completely red faced and usually hiding behind him as to not be seen. Dark Knight- Ardbert after melding with Scoria’s soul would often stay up at night talking to her. Because they were essentially a part of each other, she would confide her deepest, darkest, fears to him. Sometimes willingly, sometimes because he would find himself wandering in her dreams, unable to escape them. He realized her deep seeded fears about her own inadequacy. That she felt ill-equip to be the savior of not only his world, but her own. That she was tired of always being everyone’s hero. That she missed the days of painting in her flat with her room mate Alha, when she was no one. She even had some resentment for her friends and the common folk for relying on her so much. He helped show these subconscious thoughts to her. He brought them to the forefront, but did not shame her for it, explaining how he went through something very similar and how the hate that his own people felt for him harmed him even after his death. Ardbert guided her to his own dark knight stone, buried and gone from the eyes of others. He had her learn how to channel these dark thoughts and feelings into fighting. Taking the resentment she felt deep in her heart and turning it into a shield to protect herself and others. While these feelings never truly left, understanding them more did help. She would talk more openly about these problems with those she loved and found that she had to carry much less burden that way, literally and figuratively.

Island Sanctuary- No real story here, outside of Im pretty sure this is where she eventually retires. I just really like this glam.

[lya-dustin]

A Coward Kills With a Kiss

Cw: murder, incest, infidelity, trauma, blood, period accurate behaviors regarding marriage, infidelity and lower class people and Aemond being book!Aemond.

Rated M

This isn't done with any hate towards Alys or Alysmond, this is just me exploring the Aemond cheats trope in an dark and angsty way.

The war wasn’t kind to anyone, least of all to her.

Her brother had been murdered by her husband when his resentment and anger led Vhagar to attack Luke, Aemma had learned that no matter how her visions plague her no one fucking listens and worst of all, that you cannot expect people to give you the loyalty you give them in return.

Aemond had promised eternal love to her, wed her despite his mother’s intent to drive them apart and she’d given him a son hoping that blood would be enough to stay the swords that came flying out after his father’s death.

Aemond who was made for her as she was made for him, who loved her since they were small children and wed her with fire and blood so that if they die in the war they reincarnate as lovers in their next lifetime.

But it was not enough.

She was not enough.

Harwin’s bastard sister, Alys, had become his paramour, impregnated her and worse still, he treated her as if he loved her.

That night Aemma wished he’d die in his duel with Daemon as she cried into her pillow.

But he did not die.

Vhagar died from her wounds, but Aemond managed to get himself loose and toss Daemon off him as their dragons fell into the Gods’ Eye.

Silverwing was the last of the castle dragons unless you counted Rhaena’s hatchling, and the egg little Aemon had been given by his father before he was even born.

They marched to Kingslanding expecting a hero’s welcome, thinking she’d be foolish enough to allow him inside with his whore and his bastard in tow.

But he was wrong, everyone who believed her a foolish little girl would be proven wrong.

“Have Prince Aemond allowed inside the city, but not his whore.” Aemma ordered and eschewed Queen Alysanne’s crown in favor of the one Queen Visenya wore.

She had Aegon the Conqueror’s Crown, but it was not meant for her as was the one her mother and grandsire inherited from Jaehaerys.

This was a new dynasty, after all Aemma was born a Velaryon with dark eyes and dark skin of the Merlin King’s daughter, Melusine and the silvery hair of Raemond the Valyrian, the first King of Driftmark.

She was as much a dragon as she was a sea horse, something even her husband forgot.

Aemma supposed they were all long overdue a reminder.

While he has come to love Alys and owes his life to her, the sight of Kingslanding is enough to remind him where his priorities stand.

And when the orders came that Alys be forbidden to enter the city, Aemond didn’t hesitate to obey knowing his true family was the one inside the walls not outside of it.

The witch knew he would never marry her and the babe ---if it’s born at all given her age and history--- would be a bastard sent to the Wall, to the Faith or the Citadel where he wouldn’t be seen nor cause trouble. Alys would be provided for as long as she remembers his place and their affair over.

Aemma could order her death if she pleased as it was her legal right as his wife and queen.

There was no use to Alys now that the war was over and he was king consort, besides he would have many more children with Aemma who would be of the right blood anyways.

It was a cruel fate for Alys, but she was his lover not his wife and she knew how the world works.

The ruins of the Dragonpit loom over as a testament of the war’s cruelty as he rides through with no parade or anything to show who he was.

People had lost their fear of him even after he defeated Daemon because unlike his wife, he no longer had a dragon nor an army. People had lost their respect for him when they learned the rumors of Alys being true.

They sneered at him, pelted him with rotten food and called him every name under the sun.

Even his mother wasn’t spared in the smallfolk’s insults.

But Aemma was adored, seen as the beautiful princess who avenged her mother by killing his brother with her dragon as mother was forced to watch.

Seen as the rightful ruler, as the savior of the realms and their family.

Aemond supposed he deserved some of it, but really, they act as if he was the first man to take a whore during wartime.

No matter, after he swears fealty to his wife ---who will forgive him for sure--- and is instated in his rightful place by her side he will make them all pay for this disrespect.

“I promised you I wouldn’t die, my queen.” The prince cannot help but smile when he sees her on the Throne.

His beautiful wife with thick slivery ringlets and lilac eyes wearing the red and black of House Targaryen.

Aemond almost forgives her for having him presented to her court as Prince Aemond the Kinslayer.

“That was the one promise you kept, husband.” She replied with a steely look in her eyes.

So his infidelity had hurt more than he had assumed it would. Aemond cared deeply for his wife, but he had spent an entire year without her, and he wasn’t made of stone.

Alys had been there to fill in the blank and help him cheat the Stranger if he kept her as his paramour. He came to care for her too, but never as much as he did for the girl he wed twice.

“And for that I intend to apologize for till the end of my days, my love.”

Aemma had always been the one he would love until his last breath and the only person Aemond would grovel at her feet for her forgiveness.

“Shall I prove it to you by swearing my oath to you, my wife and queen?” he asked taking Dark Sister, the sword he had claimed the night he survived the God’s Eye.

His own sword, the one Aemma had her grandsire find in Essos, had been lost in the water along with Vhagar, but Visenya’s Blade was more than adequate to replace it.

“You may.” The queen does not appear to have been moved, her dragon’s blood had shone through and provided the armor that led her to survive all their family.

But underneath the steel lies the soft beating heart of the girl he loved; all he must do was crack its hardened shell.

For all her claims of being strong, Aemma feels herself pathetically weak.

He speaks as if nothing had changed, as if he didn’t break her heart a thousand times even before he took the whore for his lover.

She doesn’t want to forgive him, even if the remaining greens demand he remain her husband and consort as part of their surrender.

There are no feasts, no sign of celebration about his return to her.

They are to have a quiet reunion and he will see the babe on who’s life he had sworn on when he promised her he wouldn’t kill her little brother.

She hates him.

She loved the boy he was but hates the man who stands before her thinking she would forgive him.

It pains Aemma to know their love was never meant to be anything but a tragedy, even as Aemond holds his son in his arms and the sapphire eye cries just as it would if it had been a real one.

Their son sleeps in the cradle they shared as babes, and it is the fact that he looks and even sounds like the boy she wed that has her hand shaking.

It is a wonder his dagger has not fallen from her hands.

“I am sorry for waking him, Aemee, I just couldn’t resist holding him after so long.” He apologized as he had tried to do earlier before she left the room claiming to have a meeting with the new stewards.

But the truth is she left because she cannot forgive him.

His touch revolted her, his mouth had tasted of the blood he spilled and made her spill and the mere idea of having to live with the man who trampled everything she gave him under his foot had made her realize what she had to do.

She was never meant to rule with her true love beside her, she was never meant to be happy, and he was never meant to live while her brothers are dead.

“Kill him!” Luke’s voice hissed in her ears.

“Avenge me and yourself, sister!” the ghost was joined by others who died because Aemond wasn’t man enough to stand against his fucking mother.

She doesn’t know when she raised the knife, Aemma barely registered what she had done when she plunged it into Aemond’s back.

“Aemma, what are you doing?!” He is shocked and bleeding and yet not fast enough to stop her from plunging it a second time as he tries to stop her.

“Aemee, please, this isn’t you!” He tries as the blood comes out of his wounds and yet she manages to stab and slash his torso as he fought her.

He tries not to use force, fearing he might hurt her, and she gives into her hysteria as she takes advantage of his pain and injuries to kill him.

“Aemma, I’m sorry!” he cries out before she dealt the final blow.

Aemma sobs violently and finally lets the knife fall from her hands.

The guards find her cradling his bloody corpse as she cries like she has never done so before. Her baby son echoes her cries as bloody as his parents on the nursery's floor.

The queen only hears the guards send for her grandfather and the maesters as she grieves for herself and Aemond and all they could have been if it hadn’t been for the fucking war.

“I love you, I’m sorry!” she begs the corpse with his face frozen in horror at knowing what she did.

“I killed him, I killed him, I killed him!” she sobs violently as her grandfather tries to pry her off Aemond’s body.

“You didn’t, the whore did, she wanted to kill the three of you because he discarded her as all men do.” The Seasnake takes control as any Hand would do and before evening the nursery is spotlessly clean and Aemond’s body wrapped in linen atop a pyre.

As far as anyone knows, Alys Rivers had snuck into the nursery with her so called magic and murdered the prince consort when she couldn’t kill her.

As far as anyone knows the queen was his loving wife until the end and no one mourns him as much as she does as she pressed her lips to his one last time.

[shadowqueenjude]

I know that the HOFAS bonus chapter reads like Nesta and Elain are on bad terms, but what if they ended on good terms, and it was a bittersweet departure because Nesta was now forced to deal with the Inner Circle on her own? I wrote a lil scene for this of course. Warning: Inner Circle bashing

Elain brought out her pound cake fresh from the oven. A human delicacy which had proven rather popular with the Inner Circle, she had thought it best to help plead her case. Along with the best of the wine, of course.

“Thank you dear, this is delightful,” Rhys said, and Elain barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. No one here even cared about her presence most of the time. Nobody ever bothered to help. They left her alone to tend to her flowers or cook or aimlessly wander off the rest of the time. Nobody asked how she was doing.

If the visions had driven her mad yet.

When she wasn’t haunted by nightmares of the Cauldron, the visions plagued her. She could not remember most of them, but the bits she did remember were hardly pleasant. The burden of knowledge lay heavily on her.

When she wasn’t cooking or gardening, she’d try and knit or read to take her mind off her troubles, but the latter reminded her of a certain redhead who also liked to read and had come across her in the library, and the former reminded her how fashionably dressed the same redhead always was.

That’s another thing that shadowed her very being: him. She could never escape him, yet she could never get enough of him. It was maddening. Elain’s sanity hung by a thread of sheer willpower.

Although everyone at the table was perfectly kind to her, Elain could sense the tension in the room. Most of the time, she knew better than to ask about it. However, today, she noticed the glares directed at Nesta and felt the urge to protect her older sister. “Is something wrong?” Elain asked quietly. Cassian, Mor, and Rhys, who had been in conversation, turned to her with surprise. As if it were shocking that Elain could figure such a thing out.

They all thought her a silly flower girl. Elain shoved down her rage and frustration.

“Nothing,” Rhysand said smoothly. “Just that your sister here decided to put the Mask in the hands of another world where it has the potential to fall right back into our enemy’s hands.”

Elain noticed Nesta’s eyes shimmering with tears and asked diplomatically, “What was your reasoning behind the choice, Nesta?”

“There wasn’t any.” Rhysand exploded. “Nesta just decided to-“

“I was asking Nesta, not you,” Elain said kindly but firmly, and Rhysand blinked at her defiance. But she owed these people nothing. It was their fault she had been robbed of her human life, and were it not for Elain, Cassian would not even have wings. Were it not for Nesta, Rhys wouldn’t even be alive. He could take his arrogance and shove it up his ass.

Nesta blinked, as though surprised she had stood up for her. Elain tamped down on her own guilt for the past few months, holding Nesta’s attention. “The girl-Bryce- she asked for the mask. To summon armies to protect her and her world from the Asteri-Daglan. I took a risk and gave it to her. It was the only way they would stand a chance.”

“And risk damning our world,” Rhysand seethed.

“So you would have us damn another world simply because you do not wish to risk the enemy coming to us,” Elain continued in that deceptively calm manner. Rhysand’s darkness began to swirl around him. “Elain…”

Elain shoved away her chair and stood up, smiling. “Might my sister and I be excused?”

“Now hold on here-“

“Rhysand, with all due respect, you have taken bigger gambles. You placed your bets on Nesta being able to lure the King of Hybern away from the Cauldron, and were it not for my vision, that man would’ve killed my sister, Cassian, and enslaved all of Prythian for eternity, including yourself. You would’ve been back in an Amarantha-like situation were it not for me, only worse. I know what Nesta speaks of. Bryce Quinlan. I have seen her in my visions. She is destined to succeed and return the Mask. But don’t think that’s the last time we’ll see her again.”

Elain gracefully walked away from the table, leaving everyone stunned behind her.

Elain brought Nesta to her room. “Are you ok?” she enquired, looking into her silvery eyes. Nesta shook her head, and the tears spilled out. Elain embraced her, letting her eldest sister sob into her shoulder. She had protected her for so long; let Elain now protect her.

“They are wrong,” Elain whispered soothingly, stroking Nesta’s hair. “They are wrong and you are right, and Feyre would’ve done the exact same thing. I would’ve done the same thing. Don’t let Rhysand’s cowardice dissuade you from doing the right thing.”

Nesta sniffed. “He-Cas-he’s angry at me too, for doing it. He won’t even look at me.”

“Nesta, if ever Cassian doesn’t treat you right, you can come visit me in Spring.”

Nesta blinked abruptly. “Spring?”

“I have decided. I am leaving the Night Court tomorrow. I have prepared all my things; all I need is for Lucien to come and take me, and it’ll be done. I will no longer be staying in a place where my voice is not heard.”

Nesta slowly nodded. “Ok, Elain.”

Elain blinked. “You’re not going to argue?”

“You’re not my daughter, nor are you a child anymore. You are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, as you demonstrated at that dinner.”

“Thank you, sister,” Elain murmured. “You can sleep next to me tonight, if you wish.”

“Please,” Nesta replied.

And together, the sisters cuddled in their bed just like old times, before the morning parting.

[nightmare-freakin-viper]

Match to Kindling

Pairing: Cody Rhodes x OC (Ola Kaminski), Randy Orton x OC (Ola Kaminski)

It was like a match to kindling, once it started and spread there was no way to make it stop. Cody couldn't stop the spiraling thoughts and it all burned down.

Warnings: None, besides angst

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged💚

Tags: @daddywrasslin, @jeysbvck, @alyyaanna

Cody was spiraling, he knew he was, hell he knew he had been for what? Weeks? Months at this point? He kept it to himself though. Tried not to make too much of anything or say anything or point out anything. And it was starting to kill him, he thought. Randy had let it slip, when they were out drinking one night, that he and Ola had made out. Really, it shouldn’t bother him right? Right? She was his girlfriend. She chose him. Not Randy. 

How come it did bother him then?

He tried not to. Really he did. He tried his fucking damnest to just forget this nugget of information that neither of them shared with him. Randy had said it was no big deal, one and done and that honestly both pretended like it hadn’t happened and moved on from there. But Cody could see it now. It was like rose tinted glasses had been pulled from his vision. 

He noticed it every time they were together now. He didn’t even know if it was on purpose or if it was just the symbiotic relationship those two had. They moved like dance partners together, always knowing the other's next move without having to verbally say anything. But also, the sublest touches, glances and gestures. The hugs that seemed to last too long. Ola wearing Randy’s sweatshirts instead of his. He could study them for years, hell he basically had! And still not understand all their subties. 

It mesmerized him, and it really pissed him off. Should it? He wasn’t sure, his mind was hazy half the time between this little secret, noticing them and every stupid thing he had to do for Stardust. He was fraying at the fringes and he was afraid of completely tearing apart. He knew some of the others knew something was up, Ola even would give him concerned glances when he’d get that edge to his voice. He didn’t mean to but he wasn’t going to last much longer if he kept going like this. He needed to talk to her.

Cody stared at the cup of coffee infront of him, watching the way the colors swirled from the creamer he just put in. How many cups was he up to today? 4? 5? He lost count. Not that it mattered, he was jittery and nervous beforehand. He looked at his watch again, she should be her any second. Ola was never late. He didn’t know how to even remotely bring this conversation up. He wanted to get out of his contract. Leave WWE, find his place in the indies and build a name for himself not just because he was a Rhodes. He knew, really deep in his chest, he knew she’d never agree to leaving. WWE was her home, it always had been and now that she was helping younger talent and a manager for one of the hottest up and coming stars, why would she throw it all away? For him…? They could probably make the distance work…well before they could've….before he found out what happened between her and Randy. It plagued him and he felt like a wimp because of it. So they made out? Big deal right? Years ago too at this point. So what's the problem?

Cody truly hadn’t noticed before. Their closeness. Nor had he ever paid attention to the whisperings backstage and through the media. He thought they were dumb. Until now. Everyone and he meant everyone thought that they were together. Cody and Ola were out publicly but people still thought it was fake and she was with Randy. He went down a rabbit hole one night, insomnia claiming his brain like a dark demon. So, all night, instead of the rest he needed. He read article after article and every feed and thread he could get his hands on on how Randy and Ola were actually secretly dating this whole time and have been for years. ‘No one looks at her the way he does.’ ‘Ola’s smile and demeanor towards Randy is COMPLETELY different than it is with any of the other men on the roster.’ and so many more. So much worse things too. With all that, he couldn't close his eyes without picturing them pinning each other against a door, lost in an intense make out session. He hated it. 

Cody snapped back to reality as he heard a familiar click of heels on tile and jingle of her purse, you could hear the woman a mile away and she loved it. She stepped in the cafe, clad in a pink blazer, matching skirt with a white corset top and white heels to round out the outfit. A grin spread over her face before it faltered slightly at him. He knew he looked a mess, lack of sleep was taking a toll on him. He stood as she approached and gave her a gentle kiss hello, before they sat again and she eyed her coffee before smiling, 

“A mocha cooler, my favorite..” She took a sip happily before crossing her arms and leaning on the table, “So what’s so urgent you brought me out here?” Cody hated this. Really he did. He hated confrontation. 

“I’m thinking of asking for my release.”

Ola stared at him and wanted to laugh, she really did but the look on Cody's face was dead fucking serious. Oh no. 

Honestly, deep in her mind, she knew that something was going to happen. He was unhappy, everyone could tell and he had been getting increasingly agitated with everyone lately. She untucked one of her arms and reached across the table, taking his hand in hers and running her fingers over his knuckles as he squeezed her hand. He really wasn't joking.

“Okay…what…well…,” she studied him, she knew he hadn't been sleeping and it was getting more and more apparent, especially with the dark circles around his eyes. 

“What's the plan then Cody? If they release you what will you do…?” She frowned slightly as she watched him stare where their hands were connected. He had seemed so spacey lately, but she originally assumed it was from the lack of sleep but that seemed to only be part of it now.

“I don't know….I can't do this Stardust shit anymore Ola…it's killing me. Maybe I'll go to the indies and build a name for myself.” He met her eyes finally and her frown only deepened. The man looked on the edge of tears and a breakdown.

“Right….I mean, I'm definitely not saying you couldn't do that but the schedule and work and all that….” She wanted to ask him out right. She really did. What about them? Was it a little selfish maybe but, it had been around 4 years at this point.

“You're wondering about us….right?” 

Damn she hated when he did that, sometimes it was like he read her mind. But she nodded and clenched his hand gently, 

“...I was thinking you could come with me…?”

Ola stared at him a minute before her eyebrows furrowed and she slowly slid back in her seat, still staring at him. She opened her mouth to say something then closed it before pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. He wasn't really asking this of her was he? He had to be joking.

“Cody…..I can't. You know that. I just got into a position that I love and enjoy. I get to help with the younger talent! Hell, I get to work with your dad too! I finally feel like I fit my niche, not that I didn't as a wrestler but this is so much more fun. Especially being able to be a manager!...” She trailed off and let the silence settle between them before finishing, 

“And all my friends are here Codes….” Ola had averted his gaze and opted to look down at her coffee.

“The job is more important than our relationship…?” She heard him say it, barely, but her pulse was already beating so hard. Did he really just fuckin ask her that. “Cody….be serious. Of course our relationship is important but this….this is my career, my future….” Another pause before he said,

“Aren't I a part of your future too?” 

Ola wanted to strangle him, she hated this kind of thing. And right now was a shining reminder why she had refused to date for years. She chewed her lip, 

“Yes, you are Cody. But so is WWE and everyone there! Randy, Seth, Hunter, your dad and all my other friends! I just can't leave!” She could've sworn he physically tensed when she said Randy's name or she was losing it. It was probably just the stress. She risked a glance up at his face and met his frown with her own. She held his gaze as she watched several emotions flicker in those gorgeous blue eyes of his. Frustration was the emotion that seemed to settle on his features, not that she really blamed him but he couldn’t just drop this on her out of the blue like this without any planning. She tried to steel herself as she gave his hand a quick squeeze before retreating her hand to her coffee. 

“This….this is so much, too much, to think about right now Cody. I…I need some time okay?” Cody stared at her while he took a slow sip of his coffee, she felt like every move that she made was being hyper analyzed by him, and then shifted his eyes back to the drink briefly,

“Yeah….I ‘spose it is a lot isn’t it..,” He scratched the back of his head before slumping back in his seat himself, “I’m sorry that I just….yeah guess I did just drop it on you, huh?” Ola gave a small, quiet laugh, 

“Only a little bit babe…” She mustered up a weak smile. Something else was definitely up with him though, there had to be, 

“Since we're here….what else has been bothering you? This can’t be the only thing that’s keeping you up at night lately…?” Ola tilted her head slightly as she noticed the way his hands clenched around his coffee cup, the veins suddenly noticeable. 

Cody could punch himself. Of course she knew something else was up, she wasn’t stupid but now he had to play this smart. He swirled his coffee before taking another sip then sighed softly, 

“You know me too well, sweetheart, you know that?” She gave a small smile to him at that as he looked up at her, 

“Yeah there’s something else, but….” he paused, “It’s….I don’t want to talk about it here, okay? Maybe at the hotel later?” Ola’s brows furrowed, whether in frustration or sadness, she wasn’t sure at the moment.

“I….alright, as long as you actually promise we’ll talk about it and you won’t just blow it off again.” Cody gave a small snort of a laugh, “I promise, I promise.” He said as he reached across the table and grabbed her hand again, bringing it to his lips and kissing the knuckles gently. Cody hoped he could keep it together a few more days, hopefully she didn’t find out.

~~~~~

It had been a few days since Cody told Ola that he had wanted to get out of his contract. And since he at least talked about some of what was bothering him when they got to their hotel room together that night. Apparently it was mostly the stress, though Ola still noted his change in demeanor when Randy was mentioned or when he was around.Besides that, Ola really, really, really was running through all her options. But, truthfully, she had known since that day that there was no way she was leaving WWE. It wasn’t worth the risk for her. She was happy. And maybe that was selfish of her. She knew how bad being Stardust was destroying Cody. She wasn’t blind to it, so of course she didn’t blame him. But….what about them? She loved him. And it had taken a painfully long time for her to admit when she did. 

Ola stepped besides Cody as they made their way to their room after meeting everyone for dinner. It had been 3 days since Cody dropped his bomb on her and she was finally ready to sit and talk about it. She was only half listen as he talked to his brother, but her head snapped as he was saying goodbye and Dustin went,

“Well, goodnight, and enjoy your last few days here.” Ola raised a brow as Cody went sheet white and Dustin, realizing his fuck up, quickly left the scene as Cody opened the door to their room. Ola followed him in, slowly, and furrowed her brows as she watched Cody’s back, 

“Cody……what did Dustin mean by that…?”

She stepped more in the room, sucking her cheek in and chewing on it, a nasty habit she picked up when she was nervous. She could see Cody’s shoulders were tense as he sighed and turned enough to look at her. He still didn't say anything. Ola swallowed as her eyes narrowed,

“Cody…Rhodes….what the fuck did Dustin fucking mean?” Ola crossed her arms and scrunched her nose.

Cody sighed, he could kill his brother right now. He was doing so well. A few more days…

He ran a hand down his face before turning away from her, he couldn’t look at her, not the way she was looking at him. The hurt in her eyes already was going to end him. He took a deep breath before letting it out, 

“I said I wanted out of my contract….I actually had already formally put the request in….a few days before I told you.”

Ola only heard white noise as her vision filled with red around the edges as she stared at his back. Already put in the request. Was he actually fucking with her? She swayed on her feet a minute before she walked and grabbed his shoulder, whipping him around to face her,

“You’re fucking with me right? You have to be?! You put it in without even fucking talking to me? What the actual fuck Cody!” Her voice was taking on a higher pitch and she knew damn well her eyes were starting to water already. Especially since he seemed so passive right now. Cody stared at her a moment, searching for what to say, 

“You said it yourself that day, Ola. You aren’t leaving WWE. I knew that before I even asked you to come with me. It was a last ditch effort…I…I hoped that I was enough to get you to come with me.” She stared at him incredulously, at a loss for words. “What….what the fuck! Fuck!” she ran a hand through her hair, brushing it off her forehead. She wanted to hit him, she wouldn’t even lie. “Is this why you’ve been so fucking weird lately?? The last few months you’ve just been, I don’t even know how to describe it! Everyone’s noticed! Hell, Randy asked me cause he was worried about you.” There it was again, the way he tensed whenever Randy was mentioned, and the angry glint that flickered in his blue eyes. The ones she used to get lost in but right now, she didn’t even want to look at him. 

“And while we’re at it….why the hell anytime I mention Randy or whenever he’s around…you get like, like that!” She gestured at him. 

“Like what?” He tried to keep his tone even but the months and months of personal agony was seeping out of every pore on his body finally. He couldn’t hold the malice back in his tone anymore. Which earned another glare from the short woman in front of him, the woman he loved more than anything really. 

Ola clenched her jaw and jabbed a finger to his peck, “Like fucking that! You get fucking pissed whenever I would bring him up! When he’s around, your so fucking wound up tight it’s insane! And god-for-fucking-bid he talks to me and I swear, if you could’ve killed him with your gaze alone!” 

So, she noticed it all….he was stupid thinking she hadn’t. He faltered, his eyes watering even though he was still upset. “Clearly I’m not good enough for you alone…since you won’t come with me.” 

She wanted to rip her hair out as she listened to him, “Fuck Cody, I already explained this all! I can’t leave! It’s finally good! Hell! I’d say it’s finally great!” She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, “Now, what the FUCK is this all actually about cause there’s something else, you’re hiding from me.” She knew her voice was starting to wobble, fuck she didn’t want to cry during this. 

It was Cody’s turned to clench his jaw, “More like there’s something you have to fucking tell me!” He leaned in, unintentionally using his height to tower over her. Which earned a scalding glare from the woman, “I literally have no fucking idea what you’re taking about! And since you refuse to tell me! I’m leaving! I’ll just go stay with Randy..” She started to turn to leave but he grabbed her arm. 

“Hell fucking no. I’m sick of hearing his fucking name and I’m even more sick of seeing his face!” Cody snapped and Ola stared at him, taken aback. What the hell had happened between them recently?

She blinked a moment but her glare returned, “What did he do to you? You guys were fine until you went out drinking together that night.” And a dark look clouded Cody’s vision suddenly and Ola was almost scared, except that had instead pissed her off. 

“Tell me what happened Cody.” She held his gaze as he met her with glare, “Why don’t you tell me what happened with you and him? Or why everyone, even though we’re clearly together, fucking thinks you two are together! Every fucking person! So many articles and threads!” He growled softly and Ola just stared at him dumbly, she was hearing him but it was so sad she almost laughed. “Really Cody? Really? I come to bed with you every night and you care about all the fake bullshit that people online say? I’ve never dated Randy, you know this!” Cody stared at her again, remembering what Randy had told him.

“Codes…Code..” He slapped a hand on Cody’s shoulder with a laugh, “Didya know, Ola and I…we made out once. It was only once though! We both just pretend it didn’t happen, it’s been ages since it happened anyway!

Cody clenched and unclenched his jaw, “Why did you never tell me you and Randy kissed?” Ola paled slightly as she opened and closed her mouth to speak, but sighed softly. “So that’s what happened and led to all this ridiculous nonsense?!” He growled in his throat, 

“What does it matter anyway? You’re not leaving so this is over now anyway isn’t it?” She flinched a bit before she bit her lip so hard it bled,

 “Are you just making all the fucking decisions now? Leaving? This relationship? Fuck you Rhodes, this is actually ridiculous!” She wretched his hand off her arm and scooped up her bag, trying to keep herself from crying, he wasn’t justified in her tears.

“I can’t believe you Cody, getting jealous over something from over fucking 10 years ago when I was dating you and fucking in love with you! But that doesn’t matter since all you care about is bullshit people made up about Randy and I!” Cody swallowed hard, 

“See? We fight and you run off to him! This always fucking happens! You run to him! You wear his fucking sweatshirts! The fucking looks you give each other! Should I say more! Theres so much fucking shit you’re fucking blind to Ola!” She whipped her head to glare at him, 

“Do. Not. Even fucking start with me! Go fuck your self Rhodes!” She shrugged away from him and started towards the door. 

Cody watched her before hissing out, “Go fuck Randy!” Ola stopped dead in her tracks, and unfortunately, her mouth moved faster than her brain when she was mad,

“I already fucking have! That ‘kiss’ Randy mentioned, , “ She barked a laugh, a sad, angry laugh and turned to look at him, “We. Fucked. “ She was breathing heavy and heard her pulse in her ears as she looked at him. He looked like he just got slapped as his eyes were filled with tears that hadn’t fallen yet,

“I fucking knew it….fuck…I knew.” Ola stepped to him and he stepped back from her, “Fuck…Cody….” She ran a hand down her face, “It was once, we were drunk and young and stupid. And we agreed it was nothing more than that and moved on from then!” Cody kept his distance from her and shook his head, “I…trusted you, both of you and neither could just tell me?” 

Ola groaned to herself again, the tears finally falling, “No! I literally forgot it happened cause it was one fucking time! How many times have we fucked huh Cody? How many?! I just, I can’t fucking do this anymore. Being jealous for no reason and then just fucking cutting your contract without telling me…I just…fuck.” She turned and darted out the door, jogging down the hallway with her bag over her shoulder. She made her way to the only place she knew where to go, Randy’s room.

Cody slumped to the bed behind him as he watched the door slam shut in her wake. He royally had fucked this all sorts of up. He was lucky if she ever talked to him again. He wiped the tears that started to fall from his eyes. Did he even deserve to cry at this point?

Ola stood in front of Randy’s room's door and hesitantly knocked as she fought back a sob. The door opened, revealing Randy, standing in a pair of shorts and a shirt, 

“Ola…?” She looked up to him and his brows furrowed in concern. That was what broke the camel's back, tears started falling and a whimper left her lips as she threw herself against Randy’s chest. He stumbled a bit but caught her, stroking her back as she sobbed against him and clung to him like a lifeline, “Princess…..what happened?” She hiccuped as he cupped her cheeks and wiped the tears away with his thumbs,

“Cody and I broke up.”

Randy was trying his damndest to not bust down Cody’s door and strangle him. But, he had bigger concerns and that was the woman clinging to him like a koala and sobbing. He held her close as he led her into the room, taking her bag from her and tossing it next to his. He gently led her to the bed and sat her down, before kneeling in front of her. He gently wiped her tears again before stroking her cheek gently. Seeing her like this was killing him. He was going to deck Cody the next time he saw him,

“Are you able to explain what happened to me?” He asked when her sobs quieted a bit. 

Ola swallowed as she met Randy’s eyes through blurry vision, she sniffled again, 

“.....can I have another hug first?” She felt childish but for some reason he was always a comfort to her. He smirk crossed his lips briefly as he pulled her in for a tight hug again. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her head naturally went to the crook of his neck. She closed her eyes and muttered,  “Thank you. I’m sorry I barged in here like this Randy…” He rubbed her back and made a gentle snorting sound, 

“Why are you apologizing? You always know you’re welcome. After all the years you dragged my ass around, I think it’s all I can do.” She slid back to look at him and gave him a soft smile, 

“True, you were a real bastard to deal with.” She laughed softly as he smirked while she sat back, taking a deep breath. She explained everything, the whole him wanting a release, finding out he already had asked and the whole fight and how he was basically uncomfortable with how close they were. As she explained it to Randy, in real time, she could see the way his eyes turned a stormy blue as he was holding back his anger. The way his temple flexed when he clenched his jaw was the tell tale sign.

“You won’t let me take him out will you?” She gave a sad frown but shook her head. 

“No, preferably not…..” Because despite everything. She still loved that idiot. She ran a hand over her face, “I’m just so tired Randy….I thought i was going to marry that fool.” Ola’s eyes started to water again.

“Well, he’s a fucking dumbass for throwing it all away.” That at least made her smirk a bit. She slumped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling as Randy got up and sat beside her, 

“Have you eaten yet?” She turned to look at him. He really was handsome, especially when he was relaxed like this. Silently she took him in for a moment which made him raise a brow at her, 

“Sorry…just overthinking everything…”She closed her eyes again, “But no, I haven’t eaten anything.  Why?” She glanced at him as she heard him move. He grabbed the phone, 

“Well, I'm ordering us dinner then.” She slowly sat up and smiled,

“A man after my own heart, Stud.” Randy couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips, 

“Anything you want in particular?” She stood and walked to her bag, rummaging through 

it, “You, of all people, know what I like. Order whatever, I’m going to shower if that’s okay?” He nodded at her as he called for room service. Ola paused before stepping over and pressing a soft kiss to his temple before disappearing into the bathroom. Randy held the phone dumbfounded for a minute before the woman on the other end startled him out of his daze.

After Ola showered, she felt so much better afterwards. They enjoyed their meal, which to Ola’s surprise was really good for hotel food. He had just opted to get them both burgers, nothing fancy but really good. Whoever the chef was knew how to cook the damned things. She explained more indepth what happened, unfortunately more crying on her end. But eventually, the stress of not only today but the past few months had taken their toll and she was curled up under the covers, sound asleep. Randy glanced at her, not trying to be a creep but she always looked so at peace when she slept. Especially after what she went through today. Besides the anger boiling beneath his skin, he was jealous of that idiot. How in the HELL do you fuck this up? With Ola? He would’ve killed to have been even given one chance…..well….he wasn’t sure if those counted or not. He had been painfully in love with the woman for years that everyone else could tell, but he had been happy for them. Now he was pissed. Ola deserved better than this fucking shit treatment. 

He looked at her again, he was already planning to get up early and hopefully intercept Cody before he left the hotel. Thankfully the man was habitual and would be leaving around the same time. He just wanted to talk to him, himself. And maybe put his fist square in that face of his for simply making Ola even cry. He hadn’t been this mad in years. Usually he was good about keeping it in check nowadays, thanks to Ola’s many years of help. He was kicked out of his thoughts when he felt her arm flop over his waist and she pressed her face to the side of his chest. Oh, Cody was definitely fucked. 

~~~~~~~

Randy quietly pulled the door to the room shut and let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He had managed to get dressed and sneak out without waking up Ola. He looked at his phone quickly, perfect he was right on time. He made his way to the stairs, quickly going down them before walking down the hallway to the lobby. He was still seething. How the hell could Cody be such a moron about this? If he had Ola as a girlfriend, he would do everything in his damn power to keep her. Nevermind that he was, and has been, stupidly in love with the woman. That didn’t matter, it was the principal. He hadn’t even bothered to message or call Ola once. And that only pissed Randy off more, if it was possible. 

Randy rounded the corner to the lobby, managing to rile himself up more while he was walking. His eyes narrowed, there he was, standing by the lobby desk. He made his way to him, and if anyone was watching he was sure he looked terrifying. Before Cody even knew what was happening, Randy snatched the front of his shirt in his fist and got in his face,

“You stupid son of a bitch!” He hissed out as Cody returned the glare now that he knew what was happening. 

“Shut the fuck up, “ He grabbed Randy’s arm with one hand and, in not one of his greatest moments, swung his fist at Randy. It connected, making Randy stumble a little but never let go of his shirt. 

Randy wiped his face, glaring even more as he saw blood on his hand. The bastard had busted open his lip. He slid his gaze back to Cody before all hell broke loose. Fists flying everywhere, Randy was pretty sure that Cody, at least, would have a few good bruises on his body from his blows. The two men threw and shoved each other through the whole lobby, punches, and hell even a few kicks flying in there. 

Randy grabbed him and threw him at the wall, “This is all because you just had to be a fucking dickhead to Ola. You know how fucking hurt she is? Do you even give a shit?” He dodged the next punch before throwing his own, 

“You don’t fucking know anything! Maybe you two assholes shouldn’t have kept that you guys slept together once.” Randy paused a moment at that, before an evil smirk graced his lips as he looked down at the man who was struggling to his feet after he had thrown him down,

“Once? Is that what she said?” He grabbed him up by his shirt, definitely hearing ripping this time, and brought him close, “Oh….it was more than once Rhodes. I know how she ticks and I know how to make her feel good. I’m the one she calls daddy.” 

That did it, Randy saw the change in his eyes and he was lunging at him again.

At some point, the desk assistant had called Hunter, who was currently jogging down to the lobby, pulling his phone out as he ran. He held his phone to his ear,

“Come on….pick up…”

Ola groaned, reaching out to stop the noise that woke her up. She rubbed her eye as she pulled her phone to her and squinted at the name, why the hell was Hunter calling her? She hit answer,

“Hunter….this better be good.”

“Ola, Randy and Cody are fighting in the lobby!” She sat up quickly and looked around the room, Randy’s phone and well, himself, were missing from the vicinity. Oh shit. She slid out of the bed quickly, 

“I’ll be down as fast as I can!”

“Thank you Ola.” She hung up and tossed her phone as she grabbed Randy’s sweatshirt that he had hanging on the chair. She was very thankful right now for their size difference since his sweatshirt was basically a dress on her. She pulled on a pair of her shoes and bolted from the room. Those two idiots! Fighting! IN THE LOBBY? She shook her head as she ran down the steps as quickly as she could. She couldn’t lie, inside, she was a little happy this was happening. She knew why it was, there was no other reason that it would be. She rounded the corner to the lobby and the sight was to behold alright. Hunter was, trying anyway, to pull Cody away from Randy to the best of his ability. But he was getting hit by stray punches. Cody’s nose was bleeding and he definitely had at least a black eye. Randy looked better though his lip was clearly busted open. She ran to the three of them, wrapping her arms around Randy’s chest to the best of her ability, trying to push him away. “Randy! Fucking stop! What the fuck!” 

Randy’s eyes flickered down to her, registering who it was and let her push him away, finally separating the two. Cody tried to lunge again, but Hunter stopped him, “Enough!” He shot a glare at Cody then to Randy, “Someone, please, explain what the hell is going on around here?” Ola looked up at Randy as he breathed heavily and took another step back with her, 

“Randy…..what….explain?” She looked up at him as he subconsciously rested his hand on her waist and looked down at her finally. She held back her wince at the way his lip was busted, though he somehow still looked too good with blood smeared over his lips. She blinked as he stared at her a moment, brow raising at her, she’d think about that later. 

Randy sighed as he looked from Ola to Hunter, who looked increasingly confused,

“Something…happened last night and believe it or not, I did come back here to talk but he took a shot at me first.” He watched as Ola’s gaze went from him to shooting the most seething glare in Cody’s direction.

“Don’t play completely innocent! You grabbed me first.” At this point, Hunter was rubbing his temples and he looked at Ola. Ola released herself from Randy and walked over, taking Hunter’s arm, pulling him to the side. She explained everything as quickly as she could, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall again. She was already sick of crying and feeling like this,

Cody stared at Ola, his throat tight as he watched her talk to Hunter. He ignored the heated glare he was getting from Randy for looking at her. He didn’t own her, fucks sake. Was Randy telling the truth when he said it had been more than once? He reached up and wiped some of the blood from his lips as he continued watching her. Of course it was his fault, she looked terrible. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were puffy from crying and she just looked exhausted over all. He swallowed dryly realizing what she was wearing now. Are you fucking joking? She was wearing one of his sweatshirts, because of course she was. Did they sleep together last night? He risked a glance at Randy who now had a ghost of a smirk on his lips like he knew what Cody was thinking and trying to figure out. He was going to lose it again. 

Hunter squeezed Ola’s shoulder reassuringly as she turned to walk back over to Randy who pulled her into a hug again, trying to hide the fact she was crying again.

“Alright….now that I know the main, important parts. Tonight, we’re all having a meeting together about what we can do story wise okay?” He rubbed his head as she looked at each of them, getting various degrees of agreement. “Good. Now. Do not do this again, got it?” More agreement. Hunter sighed. He didn’t get paid enough for this sometimes.

Ola let Randy start to lead her towards the elevator, but Cody stepped into their vision. Randy’s glare returned as Ola tensed under his touch,

“Can we please talk for a minute…?” Ola wanted to deck him herself now. How fucking dare he think he had any right to talk to her. She put her hands on her hips, popping a hip out, her brows furrowed, “What the fuck is there to talk about Rhodes? You made it very clear last night and, now this morning, by deciding to get in a fucking fight. You didn’t even bother to try to message or call me last night and suddenly I’m important enough to have a talk?” She had stepped closer and jabbed her finger in his chest, “You lost that privilege last night. We’re done just like you wanted.” Cody’s jaw was tight as he took the verbal beating from her. He deserved it. 

“I deserve that…all of this. I just….,” He ran a hand down his face and winced when he hit his nose, probably broken, “Just one question, please?” Ola sighed and glanced up at Randy who met her gaze in confusion, she couldn’t be serious. He didn’t deserve it. But he nodded and walked near the elevator, waiting for her. She turned back to Cody, 

“What the fuck is it and make it quick, I’m still tired and would like to get more sleep.” She crossed her arms angrily as she waited. Though it was slightly distracting having Randy’s sweatshirt on, all she smelt was him the whole time. 

Cody shifted, almost nervously, as he looked at Ola. Fuck he was a moron. Even in this state, she was beautiful. And fuck he loved her. He rubbed his eyes, to deter the tears he felt, she would just be more pissed if he was teary eyed,

“The fight….really got worse when….he said something.” He sighed softly, “Ola, did you..was it more than once?” Ola, even though she was still pissed, felt heat blast right to her face and ears as she flickered her gaze to randy with a sigh, 

“Yes. It was..I guess you could say regularly…” She rung her hands together as Cody slowly closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, “Was that it?” 

He hated that he asked. He should’ve lived in blissful ignorance. It wouldn't have hurt as bad as this did. So, they just lied about their whole relationship to him. 

He felt numb almost if it weren’t for the tears threatening to fall, “...That was it…” He swallowed harshly as she turned and quickly made her way back to Randy, who of course, put his hand on her waist again. Cody glared as they got in the elevator and Randy, of course, shot him a smirk as he pulled her closer to him protectively. He wanted to die.

Ola held it, mostly, together until they were back in the hotel room. She hated him. She hated his stupid blue eyes. His dumb smile. His moronic voice. His idiotic face. She hated it all and it was killing her that she still cared about him. She sniffled again as Randy stroked her back again. She looked up at him, before not completely aware of her actions, her fingers touched the mark on his lip, a soft frown on her lips, 

“You fucking idiot, you don’t have to fight for my honor.” He stared at her, completely caught off guard a moment and without thinking, kissed her fingers, 

“Don’t I….?” She swallowed gently, feeling her face heat up as she shook her head, 

“That’s enough there, stud, I’m too tired for this.” He couldn’t help but let out a laugh at that before pulling her to the bed. She grabbed her phone, wincing at the fact here was one message from Cody. No, she didn’t need this right now. She tossed it on the nightstand and crawled back in the bed, keeping the sweatshirt on. Randy didn’t ask about the phone, he already knew who it was. He slid into the bed next to her and she immediately snuggled close to him, 

“So, when is the meeting with Hunter? “ He questioned as he got more comfortable, “Not until 5, so I’m sleeping some more.” She muttered and closed her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately. He stared at her, he wished he could sleep like that. Randy listened to her breath and subconsciously rubbed a circle on her back while he did. Against his better judgment, he pressed a soft kissed to her head, 

“I should’ve told you how I felt before you met him, princess.”

~~~~~

Ola checked herself in the mirror one more time as she pulled on her black blazer to pull together her outfit. The pink top and black mini skirt accentuated her curves in all the right ways. She turned to the side as she looked at herself when Randy came out of the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe, his brows shooting up in surprise, 

“Damn, princess, you’re not holding back are you?” She looked at him with a little smirk before she turned for him as he looked her up and down,

“No, I’m not. He needs to be reminded of what he’ll be missing.” She grabbed her ‘O’ necklace from the box and Randy pushed off the door, moving to stand behind her as she gently handed the necklace to him and she lifted her hair up for him to clasp it around her neck. They’d done this a million times but this felt more intimate than it should have. She knew her cheeks were pink as she met his eyes in the mirror and she swallowed thickly at the look in his eyes before he stepped back. It wasn’t helping he hadn’t put his shirt on yet either,

“I think this outfit will have him suffering, babe, “He chuckled as he walked to get his shirt and she bit her lower lip as she watched him grab his shirt.

Randy had to pull away when he did before he did something stupid, but damn did she look good. He almost felt bad for Cody, cause she was clearly out for blood with that outfit. He pulled his shirt on but raised a brow when Ola moved to stand in front of him. She silently fixed his collar and slid her fingers down, buttoning the shirt for him. He was holding his breath as he watched her fingers on the buttons before darting his eyes to the rest of her and immediately regretting it. He couldn’t help it as his eyes traced a trail down her neck, to her necklace that rested in her cleavage and he swallowed when his eyes shot up to hers and Ola smirked at him. She chuckled, 

“Eyes are up here stud….” She hummed softly as she buttoned the last button on his shirt. Randy couldn’t help but chuckle a little, “You’re evil, you know that?” She pouted a little as she patted his chest and stepped away, “Well, I learned from the best.” She winked and grabbed her purse as she shook his head and tucked his shirt in, then grabbed his watch and his keys. 

“Are you ready for this?” He stepped past her to the door, and she sighed softly, “Don’t think I have an option not to be.” He opened the door and they headed to his car.

Ola was anxious, incredibly so, she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him just this morning but everything felt weird. She hated this feeling but she was happy that she had Randy with her. For whatever reason, he always grounded her even when he was up to stupid shit. They waited outside Hunter’s door briefly as she took another deep breath and put her bitch face on, before looking at Randy, “Let’s get this over with.” They walked in and she tensed immediately when she saw Cody, she hated feeling this way and she hated that her chest ached at how he looked. He reminded her of a kicked puppy, his stupid blue eyes were still red and there was a faint bruise forming on his cheek from earlier. He deserved it, she tried to convince herself. She sat in the chair farthest from him and Randy put himself in the one between them. She almost wanted to laugh. This felt like divorce proceedings and she brought her new piece with her. She crossed her legs and tried to relax slightly, to no avail. 

Cody tried not to stare at her as she came in, which was impossible. She looked stunning and not like anything was bothering her at all. Her top clung to her perfectly and her skirt made her legs look ridiculously long. His throat was dry, he really was stupid. The scathing glare he was getting from Randy wasn’t helping. He wanted to get up and leave the room, running away wouldn’t fix anything but at least he wouldn’t feel like he was suffocating. He wanted to apologize to her and grovel and beg for her back but it would never work. He rubbed his eyes as Hunter sat at his desk, hopefully this was quick.

“Well, we all know everything that has happened in the last 24 hours. And with Cody leaving, we need a way to write him out of the show and since there’s already a story with us four, we have come up with an idea. Ola, I know this isn’t ideal but you’ll have to be with Cody and Randy and I will run into you two backstage. There’s going to be a match between Randy and Cody, but if Cody loses, he gets fired by me. Ola, you’ll be a ringside on commentary, for obvious reasons. And at the end of the show, Cody you’ll have an interview about how being fired feels, sound good to everyone?” 

Ola tapped her nails on her knee, “I’m not happy I have to pretend everything is hunky dory but yeah, it makes sense for the story.” She sighed softly as Randy looked at her with a small frown. 

“I know it’s not the best but, with such short notice it’s unfortunately what we got.” Hunter gave her a sympathetic look, “And you two, “he gestured to Cody and Randy, “I expect you two to not kill each other in the ring tonight okay?” Randy grumbled but agreed and Cody nodded, rather stiffly. 

“Okay, perfect. Well…unless you guys have anything, we should be done here.” Hunter stood and Cody was the first to shake his hand and disappear from the room. Ola’s nose scrunched as she watched him high tail it out of the room. Typical. She slowly stood, 

“I do actually have an idea Hunter…” Both the men gave her a look but she explained her idea and Hunter sat back down in thought, “It could work, but you’d be a heel again after?” She shrugged and laughed lightly, “Hunter, I’m a way better heel then a face and we know that.” Randy couldn’t help but chuckle himself because it was true. 

Hunter nodded, “Alright, it’s a go. I should tell Co-” She put her hand up, “No, his reaction will be genuine then.” Hunter’s eyebrows went up, “Alright, alright.” They both shook Hunter’s hand before stepping out and Ola took a deep breath,

“You wanna go out to eat?” She tilted her head at Randy with a smile, “I’d love to stud.”

~~~~

A few days later, Ola crossed her arms outside of Cody’s locker room, waiting for him. Sure she probably could go in but that was the last fucking thing she wanted to do right now. She was still mad and still hurt, even though the moron tried to apologize and explain his thought process more to her in the days following their break up. Which was messy as hell, all their friends were either not surprised or completely blindsided there seemed to be no in between. She leaned against the wall and frowned to herself when she heard a crashing noise from the room, she opened the door and looked around only to see shit thrown around the room and Cody scrubbing the hell out of his face over the sink. She cautiously walked into the room, 

“Cody….?” He froze before looking at her in the mirror, “If this is my last fucking match, I’m going out as Cody not as a fucking clown.” She nodded and backed up as she looked at his torn Stardust suit. Holy shit. 

She hesitated, “What will you wear then?” He dried his face before turning to her, watching her inspect the torn suit. 

“I have some of my other gear to wear.” She nodded slowly, “I…..right. I’ll be outside…” Ola slid from room quickly and shut the door, closing her eyes and leaned against the door. She almost felt bad for what she was going to do to him later. She leaned against the wall while she waited for him to get dressed again. Looking up when she heard the door open, he looked at her, “Sorry about…..that. Are you ready?” She pushed off the wall and gave him a sidelong look, “I don’t really have a choice do I, Cody?” He winced and rubbed the back of his head, 

“No, I guess not. Let’s get this over with.” She nodded and followed close behind him down the hall

“Where’s your facepaint Stardust?” Randy sneered as Cody and Hunter crossed their path. Cody glared back the best he could and Ola looked exasperated at them both. “I decided I didn’t want to be Stardust anymore.” Hunter narrowed his eyes at the other man and knocked Randy’s arm as he readjusted his title belt, “You hear that? He just decided that he didn’t want to follow the rules.” Randy nodded as he peered down at Cody while Ola shifted uncomfortably beside the two men. The real life tension was palpable.

 “Well since you can just make decisions around here, lucky for you, you now get a match tonight now, against Randy.” Cody’s jaw fell open and like the good actress she was, Ola’s eyes widened in shock. “And, you better win Cody, or you won’t be here very long.” Ola’s expression changed to hurt, which was genuine, 

“Hunter….what do you mean?!” Hunter patted Randy on the stomach, who laughed a bit, “Well if Cody loses, he’s fired.” Cody’s face dropped and Ola clenched her hands.

“So, don’t lose. Oh, and Ola? You’re on commentary for it” And the two men walked away smirking as Ola and Cody stood there dumbfounded.

Ola made her way down the ramp to her music, a permanent frown plastered on her face as she sat at the announcer’s desk. She crossed her legs, making light banter with King and Cole until Cody’s music hit and she tensed, making sure her jacket was closed, everyone in the crowd was surprised to hear his theme and not Stardust’s. She gave it to Cody, the man was a grade A actor. He looked genuinely stressed about potentially losing his job. Well, he may be but that wasn’t her problem. The crowd was on his side though. She chewed her lip when Randy’s music hit to mixed cheers, which seemed common for the viper. She tilted her head as she watched him, he looked really good tonight. But when, didn’t he. 

The match was great honestly. They both put their all into it. And if you were a fan, you’d think these two had a genuine beef. Which right now they did, but they didn’t need to know that yet. That would be after the match. Her little stint at the end would confirm her heel turn and basically all but confirm their break up also. She was sure she’d get a million tweets and questions thrown at her and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Maybe she’d go visit dad after a week or so, to clear her head, he already knew what happened. She subconsciously winced when Randy hit Cody with the RKO. No matter what she did when he hit the move since she knew the toll it took on him. 

Time seemed to slow down for all three of them as the three count was counted. Cody closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Randy looked to Ola, accidentally, as she raised her hand to her mouth in faux shock at the outcome. The crowd was pissed and chanting for Cody as Randy grabbed his championship belt and backed away from a downtrodden, defeated looking Cody. Ola tossed her head off her head, running and sliding in the ring. She slowly made her way to Cody, kneeling before him. She swallowed as he reached out to her, like originally planned, but she slapped his hand away with a disgusted look on her face.

“You’re pathetic. Can’t even win to save your job.” She stood up slowly, unzipping her jacket and tossing it outside the ring, a sick feeling of satisfaction in her stomach at the look on his face at her Stardust shirt. Was it a low blow? Absolutely. She glanced at Randy, who had a smirk before she stepped back again, doing the signature Stardust cartwheel but instead of putting her hands in front of her face, she stuck both her middle fingers up at Cody who was dangerously close to crying, 

“You’ll always be Stardust.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and grabbed Randy’s arm, raising it in victory as the crowd, after being shell shocked, booed the hell out of her while the two of them walked up to Hunter on the top of the ramp and she raised his hand in victory again. 

Hunter lifted the microphone, “This is a business Cody, and I need winners and people who listen. I have to do what’s right for everyone back here….” The crowd's booing grew louder, “It’s with deep regret, Cody, that I have to tell you that you’re fired.” Randy put his arm around Ola and led her backstage, Hunter following shortly after. Ola could only hear the pulse in her ears as people were talking to her, it was all a blur and shortly, Randy pulled her away back to his locker room. 

“You alright?” Randy muttered to her as they walked and she nodded slowly, “Yeah….yes I think so…I’m just drained as all.” He nodded but smiled, “You really put a show on out there, princess.” She chuckled softly, “Well, stud,” she hip bumped him, “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you there.” He shook his head when they got to the door, and pulled her into a tight hug, “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.” She gave him a sad, small smile but melted into the hug, her nerves were more frayed than she wanted to admit. 

“Maybe, but still, it helped.” She smiled at him then smacked his chest as she pulled away, “Let’s get changed and get out of here.”

Cody was getting escorted out of the arena, as the interviewer ran up, “Cody, CODY!”

Cody’s head snapped to the man, “WHAT?!?” The interviewer stopped dead in his tracks and winced, “Obviously tonight was emotional, do you have any parting words for everyone?” Cody narrowed his eyes slightly at the other man briefly before running a hand through his hair, “Parting words? Sure! Randy Orton beat me fair and square! He was the better man and I lost! I lost everything because of him! He’s always the better man.” His eyes were watering and his voice cracked, to any of their friends they knew this was more than storyline. He grabbed his back and pushed out the door behind him, slamming it shut on not just WWE, wrestling, his dreams. But her too.

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Dark aemond/dark aegon x oc reader snippet PLEASE BE PATIENT IM SORRY I WONT LEAVE AGIAN

Aegon's pov though.

Aegon married you and aemond is ...aemond, xD

Aegon's pov

Headaches plague me, visions of Maella dance around in that likely empty casket I call my head, as I sit the comfiest chair out of them all, yet I might as well sit on a chair, made of bones and skulls. Isn’t that all a throne is, in truth? A structure, a prison, made out of blood, bones, and skulls. We tell ourselves we do it for our families, for our loved ones, for our House, for duty, for love, for everything you can possibly think of. But we don’t do it for the reason we should be sitting there in the first place. We don’t do it for the people. No Targaryen ever cared about the smallfolk. No Targaryen ever will. 

A voice raspy, ghostly almost and most certainly haunting in a way, reminds me I am not alone, not even in my head. Not even in my own damn castle. ‘’Cheer up, brother. It is your wedding day.’’ My head snaps to the direction of a smirking brother who raises his cup at me in mockery and spite. 

He may act as ignorant and dutiful as he wishes, I know the true reason he is acting as if his lady troubles came two months earlier: He craved Maella. He didn’t love her, no. He wanted her for his own sick twisted fantasies, fantasies he claims he didn’t have, as he was the better brother. Love, we don’t know that concept. Neither of us truly do. Aemond lured her in his trap, Aemond killed her brother, slew a dragon, imprisoned the little lizard Maella owns as well and he brought her here. I should be thankful, shouldn’t I? He brought a traitor to me.

Yet the imbeciles on the council, they married me to this, bastard princess. She is not a true Targaryen, not fully. I suppose neither of us are, if we are being truthful. But at least me and my siblings aren’t bastards. She is. She is a spawn from Rhaenyra and Harwin and now my wife. My lady. 

I instantly reach for my own cup, throwing back as much wine as my throat can swallow, but it almost does nothing to dull the pain. I can only pretend it takes away my suffering, as the wine has become useless to dull my senses. Aemond has approached, now standing in front of me, wearing the ghost of a smile and his black still bloodied clothing. I raise my eyebrows at him, challenging him to speak, to make this snoozefest of a wedding entertaining. He is good at that. 

But my brother pretends to be modest, he rather plays tricks, toys with words, and deceives than he would ever dare speak his true mind. Gods save us all for when he does. ‘’You look like a man who is facing his execution. Not a man who is soon to lay with  arguably the most beautiful creature the gods have ever created.’’ He avoids my eyes at all costs, folding his hands on his back and keeps his eyes scanning the crowd. Maella is beautiful, yes. But I never cared for her.

When we were fourteen and six, she chased me around, declaring her foolish love for me. I believe I was drunk and yet somehow hungover too, so I threw her doll in the river, and promised her she’d be thrown in next if she didn’t leave me. Oddly, we never talked after that. I mean, why would we? She, the Princess of the Kingdoms, the Delight of the realms, truly. And me…

A man who will never truly live up to his famous namesake.

I have two wives now, his crown, his throne, his sword, his blood and his hair. But nothing will change the fact that I feel unworthy of it all. I feel as a forgery playing a masterpiece, and that someone can pull the curtain any time now. 

Aemond doesn’t see it, the fool. He sees that I sit a throne he aspires to have, have two beautiful women to lay with whenever I tell them to and more power and status than any of us deserve. The gods are cruel where they put their power, I suppose. ‘’I don’t enjoy being forced into marriages.’’ I comment, playing with my cup and watching the wine dance at the bottom of the cup. 

My younger brother snorts. ‘’You don’t know how much effort I put into capturing her, bringing her here and breaking her will for you so you have a good, obedient wife. At least pretend you are happy.’’

‘’For me?’’ I scoff. ‘’You didn’t do shit for me. You did it for yourself. Grandfather told me, you wanted her to become your wife, you even told him you'd happily breed, and fuck her until she is with child-''

''Someone has to. You won't do it.'' Aemond comments. ''You only see her as a helpless little girl. She is not the helpless little girl anymore. She has become a woman.''

''Don't talk that way about my wife-''

‘’She is not your wife-’’ Aemond hisses through his teeth, glaring in my direction. I slam my cup down on the table next to me, and the guests around us all fall silent.

I warn him. ‘’She is. You do well to remember that.’’

Aemond lowers his head, but his good eye is burning with fire unlike anything I ever saw before. Maella is not his love, it his obesession. I am sure he'd kill her, or she will kill him, if I let them come too close. ''Ýour grace.''

----

snippet ends here.

[littledancer9]

Unrung Chapter 9: Mai Tais in the Snow

Summary: The morning after Dany gets her first tattoo is plagued by visions of Jon’s past.

There you are, soldier! You almost missed breakfast,” Dany greeted him from the kitchen. He’d yet to have the chance to shut the door or toe off his shoes.

“You’re up early,” he murmured, nudging his sneakers into a straight line by the door.

“I’m always up this early,” she chirped as his toaster dinged.

“No you’re not,” he snorted. He’d spent enough mornings watching daylight seep through her curtains to know she did not rise with the sun.

“No, I’m not. You want toast? Butter? Jam?”

“Um. Sure. Butter is fine.” Ghost trotted by him, licking his hand before he went to sit by Dany’s side. He pulled out one of his barstools, sitting down to watch her skip around his kitchen, opening drawers and banging around in his refrigerator, helping herself to what little he kept on hand.

She popped her head from the side of the fridge. “Orange juice? Coffee?”

His brow lowered on his face and he checked his watch. 6:15 AM. “Coffee is good.”

Like a light peeking through the fog, she smiled behind the steam of coffee wafting over the mug when she served him. He nodded his thanks, the strangeness of her behavior enough to pull him from the trenches of his memories.

“Seven hells, Daenerys, how did you make this coffee?” He sputtered. His throat burned as he attempted to swallow the hot sip. Thick, ashy, and laced with a few grounds, he hadn’t had coffee this awful since the Wall.

She frowned, crumbs dotting her lips from the bite of toast she’d just taken. “I don’t really drink coffee.”

Read it now on AO3!

[galemancer]

the dekarios folly

MAJOR BALDUR'S GATE 3 END GAME SPOILERS.

[ short monologue. — first person from gale's pov. — past and present tensing. — angst.]

In the pursuit of greatness, he lost who he was.

Godhood... is lonely.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50362192

---——-

Victory isn’t the first word that comes to mind at the mention of Baldur’s Gate.

We defeated the Netherbrain, but somehow victory is not the word I associate with it. There is no happiness, only temporary respite. There is no celebration. There is only defeat, because those memories are plagued by the loss of you.

I thought that you would be proud of me.

I thought that claiming this crown would prove worthy enough, man or god alike.

And yet, it seems I have fallen short...

Was I to forgo the opportunity to ascend to greatness? While I stand on the precipice of power, relinquish it? The gods refused to aid us no matter how often we cried, prayed, begged. A mortal with the power of a god to help mortal kind… I could have prevented the pain the Absolute wrought while the gods cowered.

‘Your hubris was your downfall once, Gale.’

Your voice resonates clearly despite all these years past, laden with hurt and fear. I can still see your face, stark as you attempted to keep me grounded. I couldn’t accept your inability to see the potential for good, and I wasn’t to be held back any longer.

I left you distraught, stunned on the docks as I departed. I remember the crease in your brow and the hurt in your eyes, the sparkle I’d fallen so deeply in love with dwindling. I remember my heart pulled back by your pleas, and I almost acquiesced. The restraint of your grip on my hand as I pulled away, silently begging me not to go.

But you let me.

And by the gods, I wish you hadn’t.

For some time after, I sought you in your adventures along the Sword Coast, Tara in tow. “Mr. Dekarios, is that you?” She’d call out, ears perked up in anticipation, saddened eyes turned hopeful as they followed the trails of my magic. She wished to talk to me, to scold me likely, and deservedly so.

In my absence she’d found a new companion, and there was no choice better than you. You were good for each other — two kind hearts to look after each other amidst the aftermath of it all.

She brought you to Waterdeep where you spent time with my mother. I could feel the hesitation in your voice as you spoke upon meeting her, the too familiar features sending you back to the dock. You told Morena the tragedy of her son whose hubris consumed him, under the guise of an ambitious wizard reaching his full potential. Even in my most grave mistakes you spoke of the good you saw in me.

I visited you in dreams, visions, every possible sign besides the blatant, and they remained unanswered. Could you see the glimmer of magic calling out to you by name? Was my existence in your life as this divine being one you wished to reject?

In your deafening silence, I found time to reflect on every decision leading here. The prodigal Wizard of Waterdeep spurned by Mystra herself. He who managed to piece together the Karsus Crown and in turn control the Karsite Weave, at the cost of losing the only real love he’s ever known.

It is sure enough to say that the realization of my own folly proved devastating.

Now every waking moment, I wait patiently for you to summon me, call me out by name so that I may appear in front of you. Waiting in an endless timescape is excruciatingly painful, and yet I continue to subject myself to its punishment. I remain hopeful that some day you would willingly be by my side again as my Chosen, and better yet, lover.

It’s... quiet without you. The pain of your noticeable absence never fails to astound me, and wracks my heart with immeasurable regret. I miss you quite terribly, and yet there is no one else to fault besides myself. Of all the things learnt in our time together, of all the things conquered… the only thing I failed to overcome was my own pride.

And now I’ve damned myself to an eternity without you.